


A Familiar Destiny

by firesign10



Series: Witch!Sam [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Demons, Lebanon Kansas (Supernatural), M/M, Magic, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rituals, Sex Magic, Shapeshifting, Supernatural and J2 Big Bang Challenge 2020, witch!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10
Summary: Sam's practicing his Witchy skills while Dean is trying to decide whether to accept the role of Sam's Familiar. New demons and old tensions waylay the Winchesters, who have a deadly situation to defuse in order to save the world (again!). Maybe, just maybe, they can figure out their relationship at the same time...This followsA Violation of Expectancies. Reading that first will enhance this fic, but A Familiar Destiny is written as a stand-alone story.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Witch!Sam [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1809073
Comments: 56
Kudos: 120
Collections: Supernatural and J2 Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So many people to thank, because without them, I probably would not have made it through writing this. Of course, all thanks to Wendy on Livejournal for modding yet another year of this beloved challenge!!! This is my favorite challenge of the year. Thank you!!
> 
> I can't say enough wonderful things about my artist, a_dean_girl on livejournal . After reading half the story, she brought forth amazing pieces, and then added more. Her enthusiasm for the story and support of me was invaluable and deeply appreciated. She created art that perfectly embodies the aesthetic I hoped for more, and more elegantly that I could have envisioned. Thank you so very much, bb!!!
> 
> Thanks to my sensational betas [Theatregirl7299](/user/theatregirl7299) and [Jerzcaligrl](/user/jerzcaligrl) for their careful and painstaking work. Not only did they beta the final draft, they worked throughout the entire writing process with me; listening to and refining ideas, giving me feedback, and lauding me with fond words and support. Thank you!!!!
> 
> Also heartfelt thanks to my girls [cyncitymojo](/user/cyncitymojo), [jld71](/user/jld71), [jessie_cristo](/user/jessie_cristo), [merenwen76](/user/merenwen76) , [sammichgirl](/user/sammichgirl)and [dwimpala67](/user/dwimpala67) for unwavering support and unflinching faith that this story deserved to be told, and that I was capable of telling. Love you all!

“Dammit!”

Sam Winchester huffed angrily and kicked at the dead flowers lying in the dirt around him. Petals were scattered everywhere, including all over his work boots. He poked resentfully at one petal stuck mockingly to his toe. Plopping down right where he stood, Sam sat on the ground amid the floral carnage, sighing heavily. The deep breath drained the anger from his body and left just the frustration behind.

“Didn't go well?” asked a rich, male voice behind Sam. He turned his head and saw Dean standing there, one arm resting on the door frame and the other hand on his hip, a half-smile on his full lips.

“A world of no,” answered Sam, turning away to poke at the dead flowers again. It was all he could do to not blatantly pout.

Dean sat down beside him, resting one hand on Sam's bowed shoulder. “It's going to take a while to learn how to control your power like this, dude. You're trying to rein in a tornado. Give yourself some time.”

Sam gestured helplessly. “I just—it's annoying. I've had this power all my life apparently, and I can't make it _do_ what I want it to do when I want it to do it. Like...I want to smack myself in the head or something to make it happen.” He frowned and shook his head.

Dean laughed, and the sound made Sam smile reluctantly. He'd never been able to resist the infectious power of that laugh. Dean said, “You've always been impatient, even once you learned how to wait. Well, I think you're just going to have to be patient here, little brother. It'll happen.” Clapping Sam once again on the shoulder, Dean stood up and went off about his business.

Sam stayed seated. As always, he felt a lot calmer after talking with Dean; only Dean could blunt Sam's temper and derail his frustration. It just seemed so crazy to Sam that he had all this psychic power—enough to save himself from a mortal wound, enough to save Jessica from burning to death on her ceiling—and yet he couldn't pull the petals off a damn flower without blasting it to smithereens. He was a freakin' witch, for God's sake. It shouldn't matter that he only found out about that fact a couple of months ago.

Sighing heavily, Sam got up and brushed himself off. He left the flowers to return to the earth from which they'd come. More would probably join them soon. Good thing they had fields of wildflowers all around the bunker.

Oh well...back to the drawing board.

Dean whistled while collecting his materials for the weekly car-wash; bucket, car soap, wax, soft pads, and soft towels. He was already shirtless and in raggedy cut-offs, since he was going to get wet anyway. The bunker's garage had a bay for washing cars, complete with an oversized utility sink and a couple of hoses, where the Impala already waited imperiously for her bath.

As he slopped the suds around and then began to rinse his Baby off, Dean hummed idly along with the music from his phone's “Baby” playlist. With his hands busy, his mind roved over all the changes in their lives since Rowena had revealed to them that Sam was in fact a witch. Dean still didn't get how there could be a genetic element at work, since for sure the Campbells were not witch-stock. They were the epitome of the blunt instruments that Henry Winchester had talked about during their brief time together; the Campbells' sole objective was to kill as many monsters and evil creatures as they could.

What made much more sense was the witch-strain coming from the Winchester line. The argument could be made that, being Men of Letters and immersed in the intellectual side of things, they had eventually turned to spells. Unfortunately, there was no mention of it in the many MoL journals Sam and Dean had read, and John definitely had been unaware of any witch-streak possibility in his ancestry. All John knew was that when he'd been a child, his father Henry had abandoned him. John had never learned about Henry's fatal time-jaunt into the future, and so never knew more about his family, never knew that his father had in fact died to protect him, rather than abandoning him. When Mary, his wife and lodestone, was killed by Azazel, John had been suffused with fury and a desire for revenge. He became a fanatical hunter, hunting for the rest of his life and training Sam and Dean to be hunters as well. In their view, witches were only foul, nasty things, perpetuating evil with their skanky hex bags and skeevy bodily fluids.

Of course, these days the Winchesters viewed witches in shades of gray, not just black or white. While there were certainly skanky ones around, there were also witches who worked for good, balancing elements and helping people. Sam and Dean had learned not to judge a witch right off the bat, but take them on a case-by-case basis.

Dean stood back and admired Baby's clean shine. Grabbing a fresh mitt, he began to rub circles of pasty car wax onto her. She turned a streaky off-white, then revealed her richest midnight finish as Dean buffed her. His hands knew what to do, so his mind continued to ramble.

Dean felt bad for Sam's frustration. He knew it had to be difficult for his brother to learn about controlling his considerable power; it was no wonder that he was getting so angry and frustrated. Sam was harder on himself than anyone else could be, always driving himself to master new learning and skills. All his life he'd been a quick learner, both in school and in the field, and he was unaccustomed to hitting roadblocks as he was now. Dean figured that it was likely those negative feelings were just getting in Sam's way, setting up a vicious cycle of frustration and failure. Dean wished he could clear the way for Sam, but he didn't know how, and Sam probably would not take well to any interference. He was a stubborn son of a bitch.

Stopping for a moment to regard his work, Dean thought grimly that he was probably supposed to be that helper. As the older brother, Dean always took care of Sam, that was his job from day one. But now, Dean was slated to be Sam's assistant in a whole new way. He was supposed to help Sam in his witchly education, support him as he learned, and even knock him down a peg if needed. Like a big brother, yeah, but on steroids.

Dean liked this idea of his proposed role. In so many ways, it was the same one he'd performed all of his life. There was the uncomfortable aspect about a possible sexual relationship, but he chose not to think about that right now. That led to a whole area of his brain that didn't bear examining at the moment. First job was to get Sam up and running, his magical powers controlled and on tap.

The only thing Dean really didn't like was the name of this role.

_Familiar._

Just saying the word made Dean roll his eyes. Like he was some prissy little kitten, helpless and, oh yeah, 'adorable'. That wasn't going to fly. Dean was far too strong and manly to be a fucking kitten. He hadn't even accepted the role formally; technically, he was still mulling it over. Apparently his special 'Familiar' stuff wouldn't kick in until he did accept it, because (of course) there was a ritual to perform. What magic didn't require a goddamn ritual? He wasn't sure how much longer he had to decide, but he suspected time was running short.

Just...a _cat?_ Really?

Dean sighed and got back to work.

Sam closed yet another musty volume that purported to be full of witch history. Instead, it was mostly inflammatory legends and lurid woodcuts of supposedly sinister behavior and semi-naked women. He briefly wished witches weren't such a common commodity; that they were more obscure like shrikas, just so there wouldn't be such a sheer quantity and banality of information available. It made sifting out the real information a chore.

Oh well, another dead end.

Sam pushed the book into the 'No' pile and sighed. Why had Rowena even told him he was a Witch? He could have happily gone on for the rest of his life doing the odd impossible thing in blissful ignorance. Now he had to wonder why was he a witch, how was he a witch, and what did one do as a witch. His efforts to control his considerable power had so far resulted in a few broken doors and a bushel of blasted flowers. This was not useful.

At least Dean was being patient, waiting quietly while Sam blundered about. They'd agreed to take a short break from hunting, hoping to have a new arsenal of magical weapons when they resumed. That had not yet come to pass, and Sam wasn't sure it was ever going to at this rate. He rubbed his aching eyes and pondered his next move.

Dean's head popped through the door. “Hey, knew I'd find you in here, Booky McBookerson. I made some dinner, so come up and eat while it's hot. You can get back to fondling the books after you have some food in your belly.” Dean disappeared, and Sam pushed back from the table and followed him to the kitchen.

He could smell the food from outside the kitchen; something rich and spicy, along with the homey sweetness of...cornbread. Chili then—one of Sam's favorites. Dean made an excellent chili, thick and hearty, with a good balance of beans to meat. Add in fresh cornbread and it was a feast.

Sam surveyed the stainless steel counter next to the stove. Glass bowls of shredded cheese, diced onions, and pickled jalapeno slices were lined up, and a big basket of the cornbread was already on the table. Sam took one of the thick, white china bowls and ladled chili in before adding all three toppings. He sat down, waited for Dean to join him, and they ate quietly for the first few spoonfuls.

“Mmm, delicious,” said Sam. “Really good, dude.” He waved his hand toward the toppings. “You went all out here. What's the occasion?”

Dean shrugged. “I know you've been having a tough time with the whole powers and research thing. Just wanted to, you know, give you some good fuel.” He took a big bite, making mmmm noises to himself. “'s good,” he agreed.

Sam nodded. “You outdid yourself, man.” He shoveled in another bite and mumbled his thanks.

Despite the companionable meal, Sam could feel unspoken things thickening the air. What was he going to do about his power? Was Dean going to accept becoming his Familiar? If he didn't, who would? Sam couldn't think of any other likely candidates. Jody? Donna? Garth? And what about the whole possible sex-bond? Sam shuddered as he imagined attempting to have sex with any of them. Donna and Jody were attractive, but far too maternal, and Garth—yeah, that was a solid no. Not happening.

The whole idea of a psychic-sex bond already made Sam both antsy and anxious without even factoring in any of those allies. He'd had some one-night stands, sure, but it wasn't how he was wired. And sex with Dean—well, that was a freaking pit of quicksand he'd been avoiding for a long time. His spoon slowed under the onslaught of complicated thoughts.

“You done already?” Dean frowned at him. 

Sam snapped back to the present. “No! No, just...got lost in thought. This is delicious.” He dug back in. Damn, it was really good, with the rich sauce and browned meat, the spices so flavorful.

Dean looked mollified. “Okay then.” He took a couple more bites himself, and then said, “Dude, I know we got a lot going on. But we always have a lot going on, that's how our lives work. It's just...different stuff this time, okay? We'll figure it out. You gotta relax a little.”

Sam felt relieved by Dean's reassurance, aided by the warmth and weight in his belly. “Yeah, you're right. We always do.” He smiled at his big brother. “Thanks, man.”

Dean had given Garth a head's up that the Winchesters were temporarily off hunter duty until further notice. Garth, mellow as always, didn't even ask why; he merely agreed with a cheerful “You got it!” Sam's issues aside, Dean knew he needed to face his own decision and get that settled one way or another. Taking more time wasn't really helping him—it was just prolonging the agony. And Sam needed back-up, regardless of whoever it was going to be.

“Shit or get off the pot, Winchester,” he muttered to himself. The bunker walls felt a little stifling today, with the pressure of his decision weighing down on him. Maybe a run to the local bar for some air and a cold one would help him cross the final hurdle of yes or no.

“Sam! Going out for a brewski!” Dean yelled in the direction of the library, where he'd last seen Sam elbow-deep in musty books and journals. A distant holler served as acknowledgment, and Dean headed down to the garage.

Nothing seemed as bad when Dean was driving Baby; gliding down the road, sun reflecting on her sleek finish, engine rumbling. Dean's mood lightened, and he started singing along with Steppenwolf, bellowing the lyrics to “Born to be Wild” while Baby purred along. He patted himself on the back for coming up with such a good idea. This was just what he needed.

There were only a few bars in Lebanon, pretty much all of them catering to the same clientele. Dean's favorite was Hops and Shots, on the outskirts of town. It was pretty basic, but homey and pleasant. Wood tables and chairs, brown leather-ish upholstered booths down the side walls, three pool tables along the back wall. A small kitchen that served burgers, sandwiches, and a host of fried goodies. The jukebox held a good mix of classic and newer rock, and they always had some good craft beer in addition to the staples like PBR and Bud on draft. Dean wasn't a snob about beer, but he had to admit that some of the craft ones were really good. He was partial to IPAs.

Dean had made friends early on with the bar's owner, Ed Mitchell. Ed had run Hops and Shots for years, as attested to by the numerous 8x10's of him with semi-famous people that were hung around the walls. With a round, weathered face, grizzled chinstrap beard, and a barrel chest, Ed radiated joviality, lending the bar a warm, welcoming atmosphere. Dean had heard from other regulars that the only time Ed had been absent from the bar was when his daughter and her family had been killed in a train accident. He'd been gone for months, and then just showed back up with no comment, to the great relief of his staff. That, however, had been years before Dean knew him.

Dean walked up to the bar and plopped down on an empty bar stool. It was a little early for the after-work crowd; there was only a smattering of people inside, with plenty of seats available. He generally liked sitting at the bar when he was alone. Often a little enjoyable flirting could be had, or at least some lazy conversation with the bartender and any other barflies. Signaling for a draft, Dean pulled a dish of peanuts and pretzels over, nibbling while he looked around.

“Here ya go,” someone said, and Dean looked back at the bartender. Black hair in a shaggy cut a la Joan Jett, black eyeliner, pale skin, and dark red lips. Light gray eyes regarded him steadily, and the red mouth smirked a little. “Something I can help you with, cute stuff?”

“You're new.” Dean knew all the bartenders in all the bars in Lebanon. He didn't know this one.

“I am. How very perceptive of you.” Skin so pale as to be almost colorless, the bartender's nimble hands took a bar towel and wiped the bar down. “What other gems you going to lay on me? How about this one: 'My friend wants your number so he knows where to call me in the morning.' That's a real winner.”

Dean snorted. “On a bad day, I can do better than that!” He stuck his hand out. “Welcome to Lebanon. I'm Dean.” He smiled at her—him? He knew enough about gender issues to not want to piss anyone off, but he couldn't discern what gender the bartender was, and it was throwing him more than he'd admit.

“Nic.” A half-smile brought out a dimple on the left cheek. “You're trying to figure out if I'm a chick or a dude, aren't you?” Sooty lashes blinked at him. “Which would you prefer?”

Dean cleared his throat. He did still do his random pick-up thing, but not usually in his own backyard. It was much easier when they were out on the road, and he knew he was leaving the next day. Right here at home? Things could get sticky, and he didn't just mean the sheets.

“I'm good with either, but I like to know ahead of time what I'm getting into.” Dean took a long pull on his beer mug. “But I'm, ah, on hiatus right now.” He winked at Nic. “Maybe another time though.”

“I'll remember that, babe.” Grabbing a pen from behind the bar, Nick took Dean's hand and wrote 'Nic' on it. "My pronoun is 'it'."

Dean looked from his hand to Nic. “What, no phone number?”

Nic shrugged. “You know where to find me,” was the cool reply, accompanied by a wave of the pale hand.

Dean drained his beer. “Yeah, guess I do.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “Until next time.”

He could feel Nic's eyes on him all the way across the floor, and he gave his hips an extra little wiggle as he went out the door.

Sam got up and stretched; his back cracked and his neck sounded like Rice Krispies as he rolled it. He'd been hunkered over the table for hours, reading and researching, all for nothing. Lots of spells, lots of blabber about blood work and hexes and so on, which was all well and good. But there was still nothing about his kind of power and how to control it. Nothing about there being any witches in his lineage. Nothing that actually did him any good.

He meandered back to his room, splashing some water on his face to revive himself. Deciding that it was Miller time, he went to the kitchen and got a beer. Then he realized he'd skipped lunch, and he foraged in the huge refrigerator, smiling when he found some cold pizza.

Munching on a slice and sipping his beer, Sam went out to the library room, looking for Dean. And there Dean was, reading something on a sheet of paper and having a whiskey. Sam sat down across from him and clinked his beer bottle on Dean's crystal lowball.

“Cheers,” said Sam, dropping into a chair. “How are you doing? What's that?”

Dean slid the paper onto the table. “The ritual to accept becoming your Familiar. There's a whole script thing to follow. Rowena just sent it to me to look over.”

Sam's heart jumped a little in excitement, but he sternly quelled it. Reading about it wasn't necessarily accepting it. “Are you going...I mean, are you thinking about going through with it?” He desperately wanted Dean to accept the role; he couldn't imagine going through all of this without Dean by his side. But Sam refused to lobby or persuade Dean to accept--it had to be his own decision, free and clear, or it would mean nothing. That didn't mean Sam wasn't anxious about Dean's choice. Wondering what Dean would choose was a constant little mosquito buzz in the back of Sam's brain that he fought to ignore.

“I'm thinking about it. No matter whether I accept or not, I'll still be right there with you, you know. You do know, right?” Dean looked at Sam. “ _Right?_ ” Sam finally gave a little half-smile and nodded. Dean swallowed the rest of his whiskey. “I have some questions. But who do I ask?”

Sam thought a moment, finishing his pizza. “What about Rowena? She got us started on this, after all. Stands to reason that she'd have some answers for you.” He watched Dean pour a little more whiskey, golden liquid reflecting the light as it ran into the glass. Dean poured some in a clean glass and offered it to Sam with a questioning look. “Sure, just a little.” Sam accepted the glass, swirling the contents.

They clinked glasses in a toast and sipped the whiskey. They saved the really good stuff for special occasions, but they didn't buy the rotgut anymore either. This was Knob Creek, a moderately-priced American whiskey, one that often filled the decanter on the MoL sideboard these days. Sam enjoyed the aroma of it as much as the actual taste, rich and smoky, as it slid down his throat.

“Well, that makes sense. Can't hurt to start there, I guess. Do we have a way to contact her? I don't think she would have kept Crowley's cell number.” Dean sat back and put his feet up on the reading table. The thought of talking to someone who knew all about this shit definitely let him relax a bit. Rowena was...quirky, but she was a good egg in her own way. They'd been through a lot with her, and the shared ordeals had led to a building of trust.

“There's always the old fashioned way. I'll get the bowl, you get the ingredients.”

Rowena appeared in the midst of a huge purple cloud of smoke. 

“Hello, boys.” She coughed delicately and waved the smoke away. “Remind me to give you my new number so we don't have to resort to the messy way, all rightie?”

She stepped away from the blackened brass bowl, pausing as a tendril of smoke floated by. Sam offered her a chair and she accepted, sitting down as regally as if she were in her throne room back in Hell, and not on a metal folding chair in a bunker workroom. 

“Well, what's on your mind? Tell Auntie Ro now.” Rowena crossed her legs and looked attentively at them. Sam took a second to notice that once again she was in an elegant pantsuit, this one a rich purple chiffon, rather than the floor-length velvet and brocade gowns she'd favored when alive. Perhaps becoming Queen had provoked a style change. He wondered for a second what he'd be wearing if he'd become the Boy King way back when. The fanfiction based on Chuck Shurley's _Supernatural_ book series (he and Dean had chuckled over it at one point) seemed to favor him in black leather. He thought that would be hot and uncomfortable.

Dean cleared his throat, drawing Sam's attention back to the matter at hand. “I have some questions about the whole 'Familiar' gig. Figured you were the best person—so to speak—to answer them, if you didn't mind.”

Rowena waved her hand, nails glittering crimson in the gray room. “I've already addressed that issue. Next.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other, perplexed at what she meant. “What--” began Sam, cutting himself off when Rowena spoke again with a hint of impatience.

“Just because you don't know how yet doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Don't try my patience now, laddies, I'm a busy woman. Next!”

“Uh, I haven't been able to get any real control over my power,” said Sam quickly. “And I can't find any information to help with that.”

Rowena nodded. “I can understand that. The Men of Letters, voluminous archives though they may possess, didn't know everything about everything. You are definitely beyond the scope of their knowledge, Samuel.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “I suppose you are attempting the flower drill? Removing a petal at a time? But instead, you are creating a floral massacre?”

Sam flushed and nodded, looking at the floor in embarrassment. He felt childish and clumsy in front of Rowena's power and elegance. When he heard tiny footsteps approaching him, he looked up to see Rowena in front of him, gazing at him with surprisingly compassionate eyes.

“Now now, Samuel. None of that. Do ye not think that when I was a wee witch, I too sent petals to their pretty destruction? It will come with practice. In the meantime, I will send you information that might be more helpful than the dusty files you have here.” She patted his chest, and a warm feeling spread throughout him at her touch, relaxing his taut nerves. “Yer already ahead of many a new witch—you have full access to your power, and you've got a solid mastery of spell-working. The rest will come. Dinna chide yourself that you aren't doing more, faster.”

Giving his chest another pat, Rowena moved over to Dean. “You may ask me three questions now, and I will try to answer them as best I can. I am not a Familiar, and I haven't had one in many years, but I will say what I can to clear your path for now.”

Sam watched Dean think it over, and knew he wouldn't waste this opportunity. Dean may be dragging his feet over this magical bond business, but he was a practical guy and would not refuse the offer before him. Rowena could very well give him valuable information and help him finally make his decision.

“Okay, so I know a Familiar helps the Witch,” Dean began. “We aren't talking like a servant, are we? It's not all fetch-and-carry, is it? Does the Familiar have more autonomy than that?”

Rowena shook her head. “Not a servant in the least. A Familiar is a partner, Dean, with strengths in different areas than the Witch. Someone to support him, yes, but help guide and correct too. As an assistant, think of it as more of a Watson to his Sherlock. To be as respected as the witch himself is.”

Dean nodded, his face more relaxed. He asked, “What kind of powers does the Familiar get? Any magic as well, or just the shape-shifting ability? Super strength or anything?”

Rowena sat down in a nearby chair. “Yes and no. No super strength. You'll retain all the strength and skill ye now possess. Shape-shifter, aye. Generally it's a feline, but not always. I knew one who became a wolf, another a bear. The animal side will be part of you, so it will come out of you, molded from your essence. There will be some minor magic bestowed, like creating a small light for guidance, maybe a touch of telekinesis, things like that.”

“Okay,” said Dean. He started pacing, and Sam knew that meant this would be the question Dean wanted to ask the most, but was also the most nervous about asking. 

“Go ahead, boy, you can't shock me.” Rowena's red lips smiled archly, as if she already knew the question. And maybe she did, thought Sam. He wouldn't put it past her.

“What about the sex thing? Do we _have_ to have sex? Are we going to have animal sex? Does it matter that we're brothers? Is it important to the bond between Familiar and Witch?” blurted out Dean, his words coming in a rush as he came to a halt facing Rowena. Sam observed that Dean had also ended up with his back to Sam, and he knew that was no accident.

“Well now, that's more than one, isn't it? But they all relate, so I'll answer.” Rowena smoothed the fabric of her purple pantsuit. “You do not _have_ to have sex. You both are still independent beings with free will, and it will be up to both of you whether you do or don't. That being said, most Familiars do end up in a sexual relationship with their Witches. Think of it just as a deepening of their bond. Have ye never worked closely with someone, and after, fallen into bed with them? It's similar here--an extension of your emotional and magical entanglement. It's a very natural thing.”

She stood up and moved closer to Dean. “There's no animal sex, don't worry. You won't appeal to each other in that mixture of human/animal forms. Being brothers also doesn't matter—your magical bond exists outside of your familial bond. The relationship is only as important as it becomes to the two of you. You are very close already as brothers and hunters, yes? You trust your lives to each other beyond what most people ever experience. It is not at all outside the realm of possibility that you will end up having sex. But the choice will be entirely up to you. You will not be forced into it.”

Laying a slim hand on Dean's now-pink cheek, Rowena added, “It's already not a stretch for you two to imagine. Like lava churning under the solid earth, desire is already there inside you both. It's only for you to decide if you will release those...urges.”

Sam caught his breath, his face heating up and his cock stirring. How did she know? And did that mean Dean...did Dean have these thoughts and feelings too? Had Sam tipped his hand at some point, or did Dean legitimately lust after Sam?

As if she caught his thought, Rowena smiled at Sam. “Oh Samuel, you do overthink things sometimes. You boys will figure it out.”

She walked back to the spot where she'd appeared. “In the meantime, keep working. And next time...call me. Summoning spells are so messy.”

Rowena disappeared in another cloud of purple smoke. The smoke resolved into numbers that hung in the air.

Sam realized their meaning first. “Shit!” He grabbed his phone and punched the numbers in quickly, before they finished fading away. He filed them under 'New Contact' and named it 'Rowena'. “Got it.”

Dean was still standing and staring into space, the gears in his head clearly turning. Sam was about to go over to check on him when Dean shook himself and said, “Hey, want me to get fried chicken for dinner?”


	2. Chapter 2

They decided to go into town together and grab a beer for a change of pace, picking up the fried chicken on the way back. Sam followed Dean into Hops and Shots, where they grabbed a couple of empty bar stools.

Dean asked, "What do you want to drink?"

"Whatever's on draft."

Dean held up two fingers to the Goth-looking bartender. 

“So,” Sam began. “I guess--”

The beers arrived in icy-frosted mugs, and Sam broke off. Dean spoke to the bartender, who bantered back. It was quickly evident that Dean had met this bartender before, so Sam took a closer look.

The thing that stymied him right away was that he couldn't tell if the bartender was a man or a woman. Sam didn't like to think of himself as being that rigid in thought, but he did find it somewhat discomfiting. He didn't want to offend anyone by presuming gender, but found that his uncertainty robbed him of an immediate way to relate to that person. Shaggy black hair, black clothing on a slim frame, a hint of eyeliner around large gray eyes, and dark lipstick—it all could be interpreted either way. Were those little boobs or larger pecs? A narrow waist, nice ass, but what did it all add up to? Yet Dean seemed perfectly comfortable, and he was not usually the poster child for progressive society.

“Hey, Tall Man.” The bartender addressed Sam, startling him out of his reverie. “Anything else I can get you?” Those gray eyes looked at him piercingly, as if he—she--whoever had discerned his confusion.

“Um, who...” began Sam, whispering to Dean.

“That's Nic. New bartender,” Dean replied casually. “Kinda hot, huh?”

Sam had to agree. Either way, Nic was kinda hot.

“I just...I mean, is he a she or she a he?”

“Sam!” Dean drew back in mock indignation. “Really! Are you so locked into gender roles that--”

“Oh, fuck you, you asshole.” Sam snorted. “You can't tell me you have any awareness of gender roles and the changes in society today.”

“Maybe not,” answered Dean. “But I know a hot ass when I see one.”

Nic returned with their beers, sliding them over with a bowl of pretzels. “Holler if you need anything!”

Sam smiled and gave him—her--a thumbs up. Nic snickered and went to check on the nearby tables.

“So, what's the deal? You going to hit on the hot, androgynous bartender?” Sam took a big swallow of cold beer, hoping to hide an immediate wave of unreasonable jealousy.

“Now Sammy, you know I don't swim in the hometown pool,” Dean replied. “And don't forget that Nic prefers 'it' for a pronoun.”

“Oh, okay.” Sam thought for a moment. “I can't say I've run across that before. Are you sure? I don't want to offend, um, it.”

“Yup. It told me the first time we met.” Dean refrained from further comment, instead burying his face in his frosty mug.

Sam studied his brother. In many ways, Dean was not the most empathetic guy around. However, he did have an astute sense about people that gave him his edge in charming the pants off of people as well as figuring out the most puzzling cases. It was all part of the conundrum of being Dean Winchester.

Sam just hoped Dean wasn't out to seduce Nic at the moment. It would be awkward while they were attempting to figure out their own new roles, including the possibility of them having sex.

For the moment, though, all was well. They drank their beers contentedly, Nic checking back from time to time to refill mugs or the pretzel bowl. Sam found himself intrigued by the slim, black-clad figure, studying details to try and reach his own decision as to Nic's gender and sexuality. Nic had sex appeal in spades, that was undeniable. From alluring eye contact to graceful movements, swaying ass to husky voice, Nic was definitely sexy.

And then something clicked in Sam's brain; a lens rotated and fell into place, and Sam _knew_.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Dude, Nic is a demon.”

Dean looked at Sam in shock.

“What?”

Sam gestured vaguely at Nic, busy filling orders at the other end of the bar.

“A demon. Nic is a demon.”

Dean looked at Nic, then back at Sam.

“Are you shitting me?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“No, and what a lovely expression.”

Nic came back near them, and Dean gestured. Coming close, Nic asked, “Can I get you guys anything?”

Lightning fast, Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Nic's collar. “ _Christo._ ”

Nic's eyes flashed black, then returned to an icy gray. “Satisfied? What do you want?”

Dean let Nic's collar go. “We want some answers.”

Nic's mouth was in a thin line, no dimple in sight. “All right. My shift ends in a couple of hours. Can we meet somewhere else? I don't want to discuss it here.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. Nic coughed delicately and said, “If it helps, I know where you live. I can meet you there.”

Dean scoffed, “That's not helping your case.”

Nic sighed heavily. “I was sent to meet you.”

Sam asked coldly, “By who?”

“Rowena.”

Sam figured that answered a lot right there.

“Here we are, letting another demon in here. This is supposed to be our safe place.” Dean grumbled.

“Dude, we just had the Queen of Hell visiting. I think we can handle a lesser demon. I can put a Devil's Trap on the ceiling, if it would make you feel better.” Sam got beers out and handed one to his crabby brother. “Settle down.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbled, opening his beer and taking a big gulp. “We got meat lovers, right?” They'd decided to get pizza instead of stopping for fried chicken.

“Yup. One cheese, one veggies, one meat. Oughta cover everyone's preference.” Sam fished out some paper plates and napkins. “Go pick them up and Nic should be here shortly.”

Dean growled and left, taking his beer with him. Sam didn't care for demons in the Bunker either, but if Rowena had sent Nic, there was a good reason for it.

When Dean returned with the pizza, he brought Nic inside with him as well. Nic skipped the beer, drinking a soda instead, and they all started eating. Sam could feel Dean's tension relax a little by the third beer and the fifth piece of pizza.

“Okay, so...what's the deal, Nic? Why did Rowena send you?” Dean popped the cap of another beer, slurping at the foam when it started to froth over.

“She sent me to help you guys. More specifically, to help you, Dean. There's too many things about becoming a Familiar to leave to chance. At the very least, there's learning to manage your shape-shifting and new forms. Those can be tricky to master without some instruction.” Nic looked around. “Any chance of something harder to drink?”

“Sure,” said Sam, getting up to get the whiskey. He poured some for all three of them, Dean shooting his all at once while Sam and Nic sipped theirs.

“Yeah, what's the scoop on the animal stuff? What would I become?” Dean snagged one more pizza slice, ignoring Sam's frown. “Rowena said most are cats of some kind, but sometimes they're wolves or bears?” He grinned and snapped his teeth. “I wouldn't mind being a wolf.”

“We won't know until you change. Which we can try anytime you want. I can superimpose a change on you just to show you what you'll be.” Nic raised an eyebrow at Dean. “You game? Or do you want to wait for the ritual?”

Dean poured some more whiskey. “What about the, uh, the...”

“Sex?” Nic asked brightly. It slipped a wink at Sam, who couldn't help laughing into his beer. “Like the Queen said—no one is going to force you. Many are simply drawn together by the nature of the bond. With you two, well...” Nic cleared its throat. “Apparently you are keeping some secrets from each other. Sex doesn't have to happen until you choose.”

Sam decided it was time to change the subject. “What does the ritual itself entail?”

Nic settled back and sipped its whiskey. “Pretty standard in most ways. Incantation, magical ingredients combined in order, poof. There is the sigil painting on the naked Candidate's skin, and the cord-tying of the Witch and the Candidate, much like a hand-fasting.” It looked between Sam and Dean. “There can be a sexual component, but that doesn't have to happen at that time, or even at all. It will be your choice whether or not to go there.”

Sam interrupted, hoping that Dean wouldn't balk then and there, “One thing at a time, dude. You're still deciding whether or not to even do it at all.”

“Were this a decision for me about my brother,” Nic said. “I would never relinquish a role so integral to be performed by anyone else. But, it is as you choose. I can't make that decision for you.” It got up and tossed the rest of its whiskey down its throat. “You know where I am, if you have any further questions. Thank you for sharing your meal and your liquor.” And then with a bow, Nic was gone.

Sam sat back with his beer, watching Dean carefully. It was tough to see him wrestling with such a significant decision; Sam knew how seriously Dean took his role as the older brother, but there were so many huge ramifications to consider. Sam didn't feel he could really help Dean with it. There was nothing Sam wanted more than to have Dean at his side as his Familiar, but he couldn't press Dean to make the sacrifices necessary. The last thing Sam wanted was for Dean to accept merely because he felt it was his duty, or just because he wanted to make Sam happy.

“Dean, I--”

Dean stood up, holding a hand up as he interrupted. “Sorry, Sammy. I gotta do some thinking.” He left the room.

Sam looked after him, his heart aching for Dean's moment of choice arriving. Of course Sam wanted Dean. Wanted him in every way, to be honest. But only if it was truly Dean's own choice, made freely by him.

Sighing heavily, Sam got up and cleared the plates, putting the leftover pizza away. He knew it was going to be a long night for Dean.

Dean sped down the long Kansas highway, with nothing but farms and corn fields unspooling on either side. The night sky was a deep indigo, fading to black higher up. Dean loved the night sky view out here on the plains; stars sparkling, thickly scattered across the darkness. It gave him a sense of peace like nowhere else could.

He felt so torn about this decision, his mind and heart both so divided. Part of him was frankly somewhat terrified to become a Familiar. Even with Rowena and now Nic's assurances, he didn't know what would happen to _him_ , to Dean. Would he still be himself? Any way you looked at it, there would be irrevocable changes to him. Like, becoming a shifter. Dean shivered.

But...this was _Sam_. His little brother. It didn't matter that Sam was three or four inches taller, twenty-plus pounds heavier. Didn't matter that Sam had fought an apocalypse, had saved the world, conquered evil and demons others could only imagine. Sam was Dean's little brother—his responsibility, and the only person in the world Dean absolutely, unconditionally loved. Sam was his lodestone and his foundation. Without Sam...

_Well, duh, Dean. Think you answered your question right there._

Dean brought the Impala to a stop, letting the engine idle for a few minutes on the empty road.

“Take me home, Baby. We've got some work to do.”

Sam thought that Nic would perform the ritual, but when Rowena appeared, he was touched and honored.

“Does this mean we'll be bound to you?” he asked, voicing his only concern about moving forward.

“Not at all,” answered Rowena, resplendent in a crimson halter pantsuit with a black lace overlay. “I'm doing this as a representative of the Witch's High Council, not the Queen of Hell.” She winked. “That's just a bonus.”

Sam and Dean stood side-by-side in the center of a ring of sigils and mystical symbols. As the Witch, Sam wore loose, black muslin pants, and Dean, the Familiar candidate, wore white. They were shirtless, as each would be anointed during the ritual. Nic stood outside the circle, witnessing and ready to assist Rowena, should she need it. Next to her was a small table with various powders, ointments, gems, a mortar and pestle, and the soft, thick gold cord with black and white threads woven through it that would bind the Winchesters together in a whole new way.

Sam wanted to remember every detail of the ritual. He could feel the magic vibrating around them, the air thickening as Rowena spoke Words of deep meaning. She traced symbols on his chest, different ones on Dean's. Where the ointments touched his skin, Sam could feel warmth or stinging sensations. Rowena picked up a tiny chalice and poured a few drops of liquid on both his and Dean's heads, liquid that seconds later resolved into a crystalline mist and then dissipated. 

Rowena picked up each of the gems and touched them to Dean's body. Wherever they touched his skin, they adhered magically—forehead, chest, belly. Sam recognized them and what their properties were, as he'd already been studying them. Deep purple amethyst for spiritual protection, both to protect Dean and to represent Dean's protection of Sam. Midnight jet, for healing energy and grounding. Azurite, to help with the Third Eye, visions, and dreams. Dean would never be the psychic Sam was, but he would be able to psychically reach Sam and communicate within him. And finally, clear, refractive quartz, to strengthen and amplify Dean's intentions. Sam knew that would also tie into Dean's ability to shape-shift, it being all a matter of his mind control.

Sam couldn't say later if the ritual lasted minutes or hours; it was timeless, he and Dean and Rowena in a bubble of their own devising. Magic swirled and twined around them. They breathed it in, it bound itself within their very molecules. Sam saw sounds and tasted colors. He saw Rowena as her elegant, dainty self and also as a powerful emanation, huge and mighty. Dean, standing at Sam's side, rippled through his ages, child to man and in between, but always, _always,_ standing steadfast by Sam's side.

As it was meant to be.

Finally Rowena picked up the cord. It was silky as she drew it around Sam's wrist, then picked up Dean's hand and wound it there too. The gold fibers shone like a dawning sun's rays, lighting up the bubble in a translucent glow. The black threads writhed like snakes, but Sam was unafraid. The white cords produced their own lambent glow, adding a pearlescent radiance to the rich, golden light. 

Once it was knotted around their wrists, it was Sam's turn to speak. He recited his vows, words of love and power that bound them together. Dean spoke after Sam, adding his words of love and strength, his vow to always help Sam, to be there for him as no other could ever be, not wife, not friend, only Dean.

As Dean spoke, Sam's heart ached with the gift his brother was giving him, and he hoped he would prove worthy of it. As if Rowena heard him, she looked at him and nodded.

“Ye will be, Samuel. Rest easy on that.”

Dean and Sam turned to face each other while they said the final words of the ritual, pledging themselves to each other for eternity. It felt so right, like this was what it should be, should have always been, and now was coming to life. Sam understood the natural use of the sexual element of the ritual that they had decided to postpone, because just holding Dean's hands in his own became sensual. Dean's skin heated against Sam's, Sam could feel his cock hardening and knew if he were to look down, Dean would be hard as well. Blood flowed hotly under his skin, pulsing through his body and clamoring for release, making him pant as he finished speaking. It would have been so easy to come together right there, regardless of Rowena and Nic watching, just claiming his Familiar in the final way, sealing their bond with blood and seed.

Tearing his eyes away from Dean, Sam saw Rowena nod in approval.

“It is done.” She touched the cord and it vanished. “You cannot see it, but it will bind you together forever.” She gave a little smile. “You will be a very powerful pair, Samuel and Dean, for now you are not only brothers, but soulmates; not only soulmates, but Witch and Familiar. Go forth in power and peace, resolve to work together in all ways for good. Be free. Now.”

Rowena and Nic vanished, and Sam and Dean were alone.

Dean slept for hours, elated but exhausted by the ritual. When he awoke, he felt ravenous, his energy stores depleted. He evaluated himself while brushing his teeth, and decided he felt just fine otherwise. Throwing on jeans and a t-shirt, he headed to the kitchen, visions of breakfast casting an irresistible lure.

Just as the food was ready to eat, Dean heard Sam come into the kitchen. He grabbed a plate, flipping four pancakes and half a dozen pieces of bacon onto it before putting it on the counter. “Syrup's in the fridge still, and coffee'll be ready in a minute.”

“Thanks. You're busy early.” Sam poured coffee and got the syrup, putting them on the table and drawing his plate closer. 

“I was hungry, and I didn't feel like waiting for your lazy ass,” Dean replied with a grin. He flipped his own pancakes onto another plate, along with the rest of the bacon, and sat down. He flicked a glance at Sam just in time to catch Sam glancing at him. They both looked away.

“Look, we--” Sam started.

“Sam, are--” Dean started.

The tension broke with their mutual chuckling. Sam stuffed his mouth with pancakes, mumbling how good they were. Dean nodded as he chomped on bacon, washing it down with coffee. They didn't speak again until they were done, but it was a comfortable silence. The momentary awkwardness was gone.

Settling back down after clearing plates and pouring more coffee, Sam took the lead.

“Dean, I know yesterday was a big deal. It's a big change for both of us.”

“Sam, relax. It's fine. I'm fine. No worries. We've been a team all along, and we're a team now.”

Dean did feel himself relax more after saying it. It _was_ fine. It wasn't every day that one became one's brother's Familiar, including gaining the ability to transform into an animal. He'd deal.

“Okay,” said Sam.

“Okay.”

Nic came back to the bunker that afternoon. Dean had been puttering around; first tidying and rearranging his room, then cleaning up the kitchen, and finally knocking about in the garage. He resolutely told himself that he was not nervous. So he was going to shift into an animal. No big.

Yeah, right.

“Okay, Dean, here we go. Let's see what your animal form is.” Nic rubbed its hands together eagerly. Dean felt his belly cramping up.

“What do I do?”

Nic chuckled when it saw Dean's jitters. “Relax. Remember that your animal draws on _you_ \--it's not going to be alien to your nature. This first time, I'll drive, help you get through that initial shift. Then you can start practicing shifting back and forth on your own, okay? Now, you'll have two forms to manifest in—your more domestic form, we'll call it, and then your wild form. Both forms will be related; in other words, you can't be a bunny and then a wolf, let's say, or a puppy and then an eagle. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat and ordered himself to man the fuck up. He'd been a vamp once, right? This had to be better than that.

Nic reached out to Dean. “Okay, take my hand.” Dean took its hand. Nic's skin was cool, and its grip surprisingly strong. “Here we go!”

_Fuck!_

Dean's center of gravity gave way and he practically fell over when he realized how low to the ground he was. And how he had four legs. And fur? That shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow it still did.

He complained loudly, which meant a sweet little meow came out of his throat. _Jesus, was that me? Son of a bitch!_ He tried for a more manly growl. It still sounded pretty cute.

Nic—Dean assumed it was Nic—gazed at him with gray eyes set in a face of black fur while Dean tried to move around. It turned out maneuvering four legs took a little getting used to, and then his tail—his _tail_ \--had to be accounted for. Then he found his footing and started running around. Where was a mirror when a guy needed one?

 _Relax Dean. I put a mirror on the table before we changed._ Nic trotted over to the table and jumped up gracefully. Dean jumped less successfully, and was decidedly not graceful when he made it up there as well.

Advancing to the mirror, Dean felt his jaw drop. His little kitty jaw, all covered in ginger fur with sharp white teeth. His coat was a mottled ginger with a paler underbelly and paws, but his eyes were the same green as before, just like Nic's were the same gray. Behind Dean, Nic was like a shadow of a cat in all-black fur.

 _I'm a cat??_ Dean meowed angrily. _Dammit!_

 _You're a cat in your lesser form. Let's get off the table and we'll move into our fighting, or wild, form._ Again Nic led the way, winding its way off the table and into an open area of the room. Dean followed, a little more skillfully this time.

Nic touched Dean's paw with one of its own, and everything blurred for a second. When he could see again a few seconds later, Dean could feel that he was much larger this time. He leaped up to look into the mirror again, able to do so in a single bound this time.

A mountain lion looked back at him, all tawny fur and big sharp teeth. Again his underbelly was a paler color, and his face had dark markings on it. He could see his muscles rippling underneath the fur, and looked down at huge paws, ready to claw and rend. His tail lashed in excitement.

 _This is more like it!_ He could hear himself growl in satisfaction.

 _Different forms for different uses,_ relayed Nic. Dean turned to look at it, and was impressed by the sleek black panther padding around the room. _You can't always be a mountain lion, it isn't practical. In cat form, you can find out information, spy on enemies, confer silently with your Witch. And people usually have very warm laps._ In a flash, Nic was once again a black cat. 

_Go ahead, change back. You can do it. Close your eyes and think about your body, visualize your cat form. Whiskers, paws, tail, fur. Then_ push _yourself into it._

Dean closed his eyes, juggled some things around in his head, and built his cat in his mind's eye. He pushed, like he was jumping through a hoop, and when he opened his eyes again, he was in his ginger cat form. _Okay, got it._ It was not as tricky as he had anticipated, and that did a lot to ease his nerves.

 _Practice going back and forth a few times. Then return to your human form the same way._ Nic instructed.

Dean did so, flipping between his cat and mountain lion half a dozen times. Then he visualized himself as human again, and there he was. He felt sore, like he'd been working out or sparring, but otherwise fine.

“Of course you feel it—that's a lot of work for your muscles and body to do,” explained Nic, also human again. “It's important to eat a good meal and drink a lot of fluids after changing.” It directed a stern look at Dean. “And I don't mean alcohol either.”

Dean tried to look innocent, but he wasn't sure he succeeded.

Sam found his mind wandering during the time he should have been practicing his control. He and Dean were not completely psychically linked yet, despite the bonding ritual they'd performed. At the moment, Sam could feel Dean brushing at the edges of his mind; it was a sense of Dean's presence rather than any actual communication. Well, everything had to start somewhere. Nic had advised both he and Dean that the fullest aspects of the bond would only manifest when they had sex, but that was not a bridge either Winchester wanted to cross yet. They hadn't even really discussed it; they tip-toed around the subject and focused on the new elements already present, like Dean's shape-shifting. Sam knew he didn't want to be the first to bring it up, and clearly Dean was in no rush either.

The elephant in the room was the 'brother thing'. Sam snorted. What a casual reference to use, like incest was an everyday topic. Although, between everything Sam had read and Nic's assurances, the magical world did not regard incest as an issue at all. As far back as the ancient Pharaohs, one did what one needed to do for the sake of power. Need and rank superseded social taboos. For Sam and Dean, though, the taboos were all they had ever known, and it was not going to be an easy task to ignore or break them.

There was another issue that Sam was avoiding. Taboos aside from consideration, Sam had finally admitted to himself just how deeply he felt about his brother. Loved him, yes, always. Admired him. Looked up to him. That was the blood and sinew of his feelings for Dean, always had been. Now, there was more. The tendrils of yearning had burgeoned into full-blown desire, and the platonic love had broadened into a fully faceted love between partners. Sam recognized this fruition of his feelings because of the love he'd had for Jessica, but this was deeper and richer than he'd ever felt before. He could no longer deny how it surged through him like a white water river current.

Only, how does one tell his brother that? “I love you. I lust after you. I want to make love with you and laugh and cry and share my all with you.”

Yeah.

At the moment, Sam knew that he could contain his feelings. He could fence them in, keep them under wraps. But if he and Dean actually _did_ have sex, solidified their magical bond completely, Dean would definitely find out. There would be no way for Sam to hide it anymore. It would be out in the open, plain to see, his feelings laid bare. And If Dean rejected it, turned away from him, Sam would...he'd...

Well, he didn't even know. It would be a grief he didn't know if he could bear. Better to keep hiding. At least, for now.

Sam sighed, resolutely turning his mind away from that topic. Ever since this whole Familiar business had started, with its talk of sex and power, Sam found himself noticing more details about Dean. Like how Dean's eyes reflected more than one shade of green, depending on his mood. Or studying his strong, capable hands and wondering how they would feel on Sam's body. Or--

 _Enough!_ Sam scolded himself. It was distasteful for him to lust after his brother, first of all, and second, lusting while Dean was unknowing of Sam's feelings bordered on pervy.

While Sam mused about Dean and his own feelings, the rose he was working on rotated slowly in the air. One by one, the petals detached themselves softly and drifted away, forming a floral path.

Sam came to with a start, realizing what was happening. He gasped at the sight. The petals wobbled, but righted themselves as the next ones floated away.

 _What's different? How am I doing this?_ Sam kept a gentle mental pressure on the flower to keep it going down to the last petal while trying to analyze what had changed. He could feel his power in a vast pool deep inside, untapped except for the trickle that was handling the rose. Standing up slowly, Sam followed the last of the petals on their serene journey. He had to see where they led, what clue it would reveal to him.

And of course, he should have known. Dean. Dean sitting in the sunshine, a book in hand, a beer next to his lawn chair, sunglasses perched on his nose. The sun gilded Dean's hair, gold highlights in the light brown, even a hint of red. Dean's freckles were a little darker, tiny sprinkles across his face. As Sam watched, Dean closed his book and lifted his face to the sun, basking in the sun's warmth like the cat he was.

“I can feel you,” Dean said conversationally, not turning around. “I can't tell what you're thinking or feeling yet, but I can feel you standing there.”

Sam laughed somewhat nervously. “Sorry, didn't mean to be a creeper. The rose petals--”

Dean looked around. The petals were circling above his head now, like some sort of floral crown. “Wow, nice job, Sammy.” He nodded at Sam. “This is fantastic! How'd you do it?”

Sam shook his head. “Um, I think it's...it was you. I was thinking about you, and...there it was. All the control I'd been looking for.” He looked down at his feet, then back at Dean, half-smiling at the beautiful man who happened to be his brother. “It's you.”

Dean gazed at him, a gaze that warmed Sam like the sun that was shining down on them. Dean's eyes were a vibrant green, grass green, studying Sam like they'd just met. Sam felt a pull, as if an elastic in his middle was drawing him closer to Dean, close enough to reach out and touch those freckles, run his hand through that gilded hair. Close enough to feel Dean's breath on his cheek, see Dean's tongue slip out and moisten his full lips.

“...Sammy?”

Sam laid a hand on Dean's cheek, marveled at the warmth and smoothness of his skin. Their eyes locked, their breathing fell into sync, and Sam knew if he were to feel Dean's heartbeat, it would be beating in rhythm with his own.

“Dean.”

They stood a few moments more, each studying the other. Sam knew, he _knew_ that Dean was as rapt as he was, that they were sharing the same thoughts. Brother. Partner. Now with a magical bond as well, strengthening what already existed between them. And yet—there could be more. Richer, stronger, something that would plumb new depths between them, if they decided to take that step.

But not yet.

Sam shook himself just as Dean did, and they chuckled as they pulled away from each other.

“Wow.” In unison.

“Okay, um, I'm going to go make a sandwich,” said Dean, picking up his beer. “Want anything?”

 _Yes. But only when you're ready,_ Sam thought.

“Sure. Be there in a minute.”

Sam watched Dean walk back inside the bunker, then followed in his footsteps. 

Behind him, rose petals lay in ever-widening circles, their edges delicately crisping in the sun.

A couple of times a week, Nic came over and worked with Dean. They practiced shifting, spending a good bit of time in their animal forms so Dean could master his strength and reflexes in his mountain lion form, and his subtlety and feline behavior in his cat form. Dean loved the power of his mountain lion; he could leap, pounce, and roar as much as he wanted. They did some hunting nearby, sticking to rabbits and squirrels. At first, Dean thought he would be kinda grossed out, but instead it turned out he reveled in it. As a predator, he relished the hunt, from the first tracking to the final crunching bite of death. Hot blood pulsing into his mouth, succulent meat filling his belly, the well-coordinated muscles of his body bringing down his prey—yeah, Dean loved it all.

The cat thing, well, that was a little less exhilarating. Dean did nab the occasional mouse, but it was all on a much smaller scale. What he found here was the enjoyment of sitting in Sam's lap, purring while Sam stroked his fur. Dean appreciated his grace in this form, his ability to leap and climb noiselessly, and that he could still understand human language. He could definitely see the sneaky spy advantage here; who would pay attention to a ginger cat twining around their feet, padding around the halls, or meowing for pettings?

The more time Dean spent in his other forms, the more it also seemed to cultivate the psychic bond between him and Sam. Freed from the necessity of actually putting things into words, Dean's cat-persona sought out Sam's mind, pushing thoughts and images into the aura of light and color that spelled 'Sam'. The more Dean did it, the more solid and clear his thoughts became and the more receptive the Sam-aura was. It didn't work the opposite way yet, but the growth was good.

Now that Sam finally felt he was gaining more control over his power, he immersed himself into studying spells. Rowena had left her personal grimoire, and a huge collection of magical ingredients and specialty items to Sam when her earthly time had ended. Combined with the vast knowledge the Men of Letters had amassed, Sam felt that he had enough to study for the rest of his lifetime.

It assuaged him in a way he hadn't expected, this dive into pure study. Not since his time at Stanford had he been so wrapped up in books and papers solely for the sake of knowledge. He felt his mind stretch with the learning, quenching a long-ignored thirst. Sam and Dean spent so much time reacting under the gun, dispatching all forms of evil as fast as they could, that everything he'd learned during the last few years had been under duress. Now, he could stretch out, let himself reach for things as they appealed to him. Tangents could be followed, questions beckoned him. His mind returned to an elasticity he'd not even realized that he'd missed. It was like donning a favorite hoodie you'd thought you lost, and re-discovering how comfortable it was.

Sam knew Dean was assiduously practicing shifting in between his animal and human forms. The brushing of Dean's mind against his own was getting stronger and more definitive. They weren't at full unspoken communication yet, but Sam could feel that it was coming. And he relished witnessing Dean's growing confidence in his new role—every session Dean spent with Nic, Sam felt assurance building in Dean, the feeling that this was, and had been, the right move.

Sam smiled, happy that Dean was settling into his new role, and happy for himself to have Dean at his back.

Like always. Like forever, Sam hoped.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean walked into Hops and Shots, looking for Nic as soon as he was inside. Disappointingly, Nic was not behind the bar. Dean had spent a lot of time with Nic lately, but it was different to just be regular people and hang out sometimes. Nonetheless, he pulled up a bar stool and signaled for a draft. The shapely redhead behind the bar winked and pulled a mug for him, depositing it with a snack bowl. 

“There you go, Handsome. Pay now or run a tab?” Her voice was as sultry as her boobs were big. Dean found himself rather distracted by the expanse of milky white skin revealed by the extra button open on her form-fitting white blouse.

“Uh, pay now. Thanks. Where's Nic today?”

“Nic! Took the day off, I guess.” She dropped another wink at him, leaning over the bar a little to further display her rack. “Nic doesn't strike me as quite your type, Handsome.”

Dean blinked. Damn, those really were fantastic boobs, creamy globes swelling like ripe fruit, practically inviting his hands to touch them. “Oh no, it's not like that. We're just friends.” He took a deep drink from his mug to center himself. “Are you new? I haven't seen you before.” He smiled his second best charming smile. “I'd have remembered.”

She laughed, throwing back her head and thrusting out her chest even more. Dean wondered what kind of fabric was keeping those puppies in check, and his dick got hard as he envisioned them breaking free. He seriously wanted to bone this chick; he could just see his cock plowing between her tits and giving her a pearl necklace. Would her nipples be small and pink, or big and juicy like strawberries? _Damn._

“I charge extra for undressing me with your eyes.” Her voice broke smoothly into his daydream. Dean felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He was comfortable with sex, sure, but ogling a woman like a roast beef sandwich was more crass than his usual seduction scenario.

“I'm sorry, it's—you--”

She laughed. “No worries. I appreciate being appreciated. You decide you wanna follow up on that...” She pushed a cocktail napkin over. “Here's my number.”

He watched her walk away, her ass almost as ripe as her rack.

God _damn._

His beer was cold and refreshing. He debated rubbing off a quickie in the men's room, but instead concentrated on images far less arousing, like dead ghouls and mutilated cattle. When he got home though, well, that would be another story.

_Delia – 785-555-4389_

Dean studied the napkin. She was undeniably hot, and it had been a while. While he didn't usually fool around in his hometown, she looked worth breaking the rule for. Just--

Just...

The longer he held onto the napkin, the more something didn't feel quite right. His spidey-sense was prickling, even though everything looked above-board and normal. Yet, somehow, something inside him was unwilling to take the low-hanging fruit being offered, and he was too much of a hunter to ignore it. His instincts, already sharp and now even sharper since his becoming a Familiar, hissed at him to walk away. Fast.

Dean finished his beer and did just that. He gave a light wave to Delia while heading to the bar's entry doors. Catching a reflection of her before he pushed open the heavy glass and wood door, Dean's heart skipped a few beats at her reflection in the glass. Gone were the seductive red lips, the smoky eyes, the expansive bosom. Instead, he saw something gray and bone-stark, with black pits for eyes and snarling wrinkled lips curled in a sneer . The plush tits were gone, replaced by hanging, stringy flesh, rotted and empty on its chest. The ugly visage snarled at him, radiating frustration at his slipping her snare.

 _The fuck?_ Dean caught his breath. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but he wasn't going to be calling 'Delia' anytime soon.

He walked a little faster to the Impala.

Sam listened to his brother's story, frowning. “So you think she's a demon or something?”

“For sure there's something not right with her. That was a fugly-ass reflection. I'm telling you, this chick was _hot_ like lava, but then—Jesus! I thought 'Little Dean' would shrivel up for good after that.” Dean shook his head. “I wish Nic had been there. I could have sworn it said it was working today.”

Sam thought silently for a few minutes. “If she really is a demon, then why is she here? What's her game? And I agree about Nic. Seems weird it would say it's working, then not be there. Not like it just caught a cold or had a hangover.” Dean nodded. Sam sighed and said, “Well, we can always take a peek inside the bar tonight. Your feline instincts are getting stronger all the time now, and if you feel something is off, we should act on it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” agreed Dean.

“Hey, why don't you go in your cat form? Give you a chance to practice out in the field, so to speak.” Sam was curious to see cat-Dean in action. Dean had not really spent any time around Sam in either of his cat forms, mostly practicing out in the fields with Nic.

Dean thought about it. Of course his first instinct was to back Sam up as a human, but no one said he couldn't do so as a mountain lion if need be. “Sure. You're right, it'll be good practice.”

* * *

Hops and Shots was ridiculously easy for them to break into. Sam quickly overrode the security alarm, and cat-Dean was too small to even trip it. He sauntered in, tail curling in curiosity, while Sam followed. Nothing seemed amiss in the front of the bar. Sam was pleased that he could feel Dean mentally tugging at him, guiding him to the back area. There was a kitchen for preparing easy pub food, a stock room, an employees-only bathroom, and the office. Sam paused, waiting to see which door Dean picked for further investigation. He couldn't help thinking how very cute Dean looked with his ginger fur, long white whiskers, green eyes, and pink nose.

Dean sniffed at all the doors, pacing back and forth as he decided. Finally he chose the stockroom, pawing at the door. Sam was waiting for a meow, but then he realized that of course Dean was too smart to make any noise like that. Sam reached down and skritched Dean's ears, but Dean reared back and nipped at his fingers, as if to say 'not now'.

The stockroom door was locked. At first, Sam reached for his lock-pick tools, but then decided this could be practice for him too. Murmuring a couple of words, he waved his hand over the doorknob. It released easily and he gently pushed the door open a crack, peeking inside before entering. 

Sam conjured a soft light, letting it hang in the air and illuminate the room while they looked around. The stockroom had a lot of liquor boxes and cases of beer stacked up along two walls. The third wall had metal shelving on either side of the entrance that was filled with boxes of cocktail napkins, bags of peanuts and pretzels, glassware, and dry goods for the kitchen. The fourth wall held cleaning supplies, with an alarm-equipped exit door in the middle of the wall.

Nic lay in the middle of the floor; it was tied up with thick nylon rope, hands behind its back, feet and knees bound together. A bandanna was tied around its head, gagging its mouth. Sam glanced up, and sure enough, a devil's trap was drawn on the ceiling, ensuring that Nic couldn't go anywhere even if it did manage to get free of the rope.

Sam checked for any hidden traps before darting forward and cutting the rope. He helped Nic up, steadying it while it got its balance back. Dean was prowling around the room, whiskers bristling while he sniffed around, tail lashing.

“I'm okay,” said Nic, in response to Sam's query. “Muscles kinda cramped, but I'm fine. Let's get out of here and I'll fill you in on what happened.”

“Everything okay, Dean?” Sam addressed his brother. Dean meowed and padded toward the door. Clearly nothing here was alarming him.

Sam nodded. “Okay—let me break this trap up and we can head back to the bunker.” He took his knife and scratched through it in several places, just to make sure Nic wouldn't get accidentally trapped in the future. “Come on, Dean!” Dean padded over and Sam scooped him up.

They returned to the bunker, whereupon Dean went to his room to resume his human form. Sam knew that he was not a fan of shifting back to human and appearing naked in front of everyone. When Dean returned, he followed his usual post-shifting practice of chugging a bottle of water and grabbing some leftover pizza to munch on while they compared notes.

“It was stupid of me to get caught like that,” Nic said, shaking its head with a wry expression. It seemed more offended at its own slip-up than alarmed that it had been trapped. “The bar was busy, and someone asked me to grab some more snacks from the storeroom. I didn't see the devil's trap, and then I couldn't get out. Someone came up from behind and clocked me. When I woke up, I was all tied up. I think even the rope was warded or something—I could feel it tingling on my skin.”

“Who sent you back there?” asked Sam.

“Some new chick. Hot, if you like the type.”

Dean spoke through a mouthful of pizza. “Redhead? Boobs like whoa?”

“That's the one.” Nic gave a disgusted sigh. “Usually such overt sexy stuff doesn't work on me, but something really made me want to either help her or fuck her.”

“I hear ya! Same thing with me—it seemed like she was ready to throw down right there in the bar. I'm as horny as the next guy, but it was weird.” Dean drank some more water. “Something told me to leave, though, and I'm glad I did. I saw her reflection, and she was fucking hideous. Almost as bad as a ghoul or a revenant.”

“Shit! She couldn't be another demon anyway, or I would have sensed her, even under the glamour.” Nic frowned. “Wonder what or who is behind this? It's not Rowena, I'd have heard something.”

“Yeah, we need to look into this. Nic, you should still go back to work and act like nothing happened. Anybody asks about your missed shift, just say you had a personal emergency.” Sam thought for a moment. “Dean, what if you hung around the bar for a bit? In your cat form?”

Dean shrugged. “I'm game.” 

“Okay, let's do that and see if they tip their hand at all. Certainly whoever tied Nic up will be surprised to see it back to work like normal. Dean will have a chance to snoop around and see what he overhears. And I'll see if I can find out what the heck Delia really is.” Sam nodded, then laughed. “I feel like we should do that hands in a pile together thing and yell 'go team!'”

Dean snorted. “Only if you want to find a hairball on your pillow one night.”

Nic and Dean laughed together at Sam's look of repulsion.

Dean switched into cat-mode and returned to the bar with Nic. Ed gave Nic a little grief about not showing up the day before, but he admitted that Nic was a good worker and didn't push it too much past that. Nic went right to work setting up for lunch, and Dean idled around the inside perimeter of the bar like any friendly cat. The lunch business was just starting, so he kept an ear out for any suspicious conversations, or just anything that felt off. Dean had realized by now that his instincts were much sharper in his cat form, and he paid attention to any 'feelings' that drifted his way.

So far, all the talk was about television shows, stupid work managers, stupid work employees, and food. Dean felt his tummy rumble, but he figured he was bound to find a mouse or some scraps around. In the meantime, he slipped into the back of the bar area again, determined to explore the other rooms that they had skipped last night. All doors opened at some point, and it was easy enough for a cat to slink inside.

Dean never made it into any of the other rooms, though, because he saw Delia taking lunch orders. She appeared as lush and sexy as before, but Dean knew not to buy into that image anymore. At one point, he went over and rubbed against her ankles, wanting to see what his feline senses could ascertain. Even up close, she was pretty, and she picked him up, cuddling him next to her boobs. Dean would have appreciated that viewpoint more if he hadn't seen what truly lay beneath her sexy exterior.

“Pretty kitty! Look at you! Who's a pretty kitty!” And so forth. Dean mentally rolled his eyes at her gushing, but was horrified to hear himself begin purring as she scratched behind his ears. Apparently it was a feline reflex. She rubbed her cheek on him, cooing over his ginger fur. With the physical contact, Dean saw the ugly being inside again; the death and rot of her was clear, and he hastily jumped from her grasp. He scratched her hand as he jumped, hoping the resultant blood and skin under his claw would help Sam determine what she was. She yelped and aimed a kick at him. “Bad kitty!” He hissed at her and ran off, hiding under the bar's foot-rail.

Sam came in a little later, ostensibly for a beer, but also to check in on Nic and collect Dean. Dean leaped up onto Sam's lap, purring and rubbing his head hard against Sam's chest. Delia walked by and commented to Sam.

“Oh, is that your cat? He scratched me!” She showed the red mark on her hand with a pout. 

Sam said, “Oh man, I am so sorry. What were you doing, you naughty kitty? Please, accept my apologies.” He resolutely ignored the green fire that Dean's eyes were shooting at him.

Sam's smile and puppy dog eyes mollified Delia, who smiled and pushed out her chest. Even Sam, usually unaffected by such salacious displays, boggled a little at her fleshy pulchritude before she moved on to serve beers to a table.

“Dean, why did you scratch her?” Sam whispered.

Dean waved his paw. _Blood, skin._

Sam nodded “Cool, okay. I'm no forensic pathologist, but I bet we can find some more out with that.”

He got the impression of _Take me home, Sammy, I'm hungry._

Tucking Dean under his jacket, Sam waved goodbye to Nic and left.

Sam didn't have Major Mass Spec like Abby Sciuto did on NCIS, but he did have spells that helped identify magical beings and substances. After running several of them, he felt pretty confident about stating what Delia was. He texted Dean to meet him in the main room for a drink and a conference.

Dean was there, fully human and clothed, sprawling in one of the leather club chairs, glass in hand. Sam's whiskey was already poured and waiting.

“Whatcha got? Do we know what we're dealing with?”

Sam sat down, gratefully accepting the glass Dean held out to him. 

“Yep, we do. And we've dealt with this before.” He sipped, nodding appreciatively. “Delia is a Siren.”

“No shit!” Dean looked surprised. “Wow, that's been a long time.” He thought ruefully how he and Sam had run afoul of a Siren years ago, not to either of their credit. “Isn't a Siren an odd fit here? They just want to suck people dry, not attack anyone. It's a whole different modus operandi.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “I concur. I don't think she's working alone here. I think someone else is pulling the strings, and she is just their tool. I just don't know how they're managing that. Siren's are usually solitary creatures.”

Dean drank deep and set his glass down. “Well, shit. Who could that be?”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Dunno. We need to do some more investigating.”

“We need to talk to Nic about this too. When do we see it next?” Dean leaned forward. “Why would someone have tied it up anyway? Is that part of this? That would mean something way more serious is going on than just a Siren hunting.”

“Yep. We need to ask Nic if it's noticed anything else off, and maybe set a watch on the bar. See if there's any other questionable players around.” Sam finished his whiskey. “Right now, I'm going to catch some sleep.”

He gave Dean a fist bump and left.

Dean continued sitting after Sam went to bed, pouring himself a second small measure of  
whiskey to savor as he mused. The news about Delia was partly a surprise—he'd figured that she was a supernatural being, but that she turned out to be a Siren was unexpected. Sirens were generally independent operators, so if someone was using one, that was weird. Why use it? How did they control it? Who was behind it? And what was their goal?

The Winchesters needed to figure all of that out. Dean sighed, drinking half of his remaining whiskey. Besides this puzzle, there was the other matter. The one he was busy not acknowledging to himself.

The matter of how his pull toward Sam was increasing. Every day it was stronger and more visceral, encompassing Dean's heart, his mind, and his dick.

He'd buried what he knew was his unnatural attraction to his brother for years. _Years._ He'd loved Sam his whole life, of course. His geeky, gangly little brother, crazy-smart and snarky. The boy who grew up into an incredibly strong, ridiculously beautiful man. And now, a powerful witch besides, who Dean was now bound to for life.

Dean wasn't gay. Well, actually he'd found out that he was bi, because when he'd finally tried sex with men, it turned out he liked it as much as sex with women. But Sam was his brother, and for all the sins and errors Dean had committed throughout his life, incest was not one of them.

Now, though, things were...different. They'd created this magical bond, and in that context, sex was considered a normal thing. Even with one's brother. The whole Familiar/Witch thing superseded the societal laws. So that should make it all easy-peasy, right?

But Dean couldn't just throw off a lifetime of conditioning. Even growing up outside any system, in the unruly existence that was a hunter's life, Sam = brother. Sam = protect. Sam =/= jump his sexy bones and shag that fine ass.

He swallowed the last of his whiskey and decided to turn in. They had a lot to figure out, and his getting soused and maudlin about his beautiful, hot brother was not going to help.

If he were to finish his evening by a good jack-off session, and if his brother happened to...appear in that, well, that was no one's business but his own.

“She's a what?”

Nic stared at Sam, its surprise clearly evident even through the shaggy hair and smoky eyes. Sam and Dean exchanged curious looks; whatever was going on, Nic clearly didn't know about it either.

“A Siren. But she's not working alone. Sirens only care about getting fed, not setting traps or anything. Delia is being used as someone's tool--we need to find out whose and why.”

“Well, she clearly came after me, so that's got to mean something,” said Dean. “Not that I'm not a hunka hunka burning love.” He preened, flexing his biceps and wiggling his eyebrows. Sam rolled his eyes, and Nic laughed.

“Oh, you're a hot one all right,” Nic chortled. “But I suspect there's more to it than that. I'll check back in Hell, see if there are any rumors or unrest.” He mused for a moment. “Frankly, I would have thought Rowena would have been back in touch by now. I wonder if something really is up down there. I'll check on that too, make sure we are all still on the same page.”

“Okay, sounds good. Eyes open, everyone.” 

Nic disappeared. Sam looked at Dean, who was now studying his coffee.

“What's up, dude?”

Dean shook his head. “Not sure. Just, I get so many feelings and perceptions now, like even when I'm not a cat. They're just not strong enough yet for me to really interpret, you know? Plus it's still new to me, so it can be kinda overwhelming. Pretty much a mess of frustration right now.”

Sam nodded. “Yep, I know what you mean. That's how I was back when I was getting the visions. I was getting those vivid nightmares, but they didn't make sense for such a long time. I think the longer you go and the more you practice honing in on them, the stronger they'll get. You'll be able to interpret them better and better. You've already come a long way in a short time, so be proud of yourself.” Sam smiled and patted Dean's knee. “You'll get there.” 

“Yeah, I guess so. We just need to know stuff _now_.” Dean sighed.

“Spend some time in cat-form today, see if that helps pull anything in.” Sam winked at Dean. “Plus you're awfully cute as a kitty.”

Dean gave him a stern look. “I can still pin you in sparring, Doofus. Or I can go into mountain lion mode and squash you.”

Sam felt a full-body shiver go through him at Dean's remark, and got up to pour himself more coffee to disguise it. Somehow the thought of Dean sitting on him, overpowering him, went straight to Sam's cock, now half-awake inside his jeans. Shit, where did that come from?

“I'm, uh, I'll be in the workroom.” Sam took his coffee mug and headed off to his Witch-studies room. It had been a bare room like many others at the bunker, but Sam had set up shelves and filled them with books from both the MoL and Rowena's libraries. He'd found a sturdy work table and some of the wooden chairs so prevalent at the bunker to place around it. He'd even furnished it with a smaller table that held water bottles, some juice bottles, a coffee hot pad, and a bowl with some granola snacks and power bars. Spell-work could be very draining physically; it only took a couple of times where he'd been unexpectedly weakened to prepare for it ahead of time now.

Once alone, Sam sank into a chair and sighed. He was so used to his lifelong yearning for his brother being firmly locked away that he rarely thought of it consciously any more. Now, it was suddenly flaring up like a brush fire; every ribald comment Dean made, every sinuous movement, it all went straight to Sam's dick. He hadn't had to walk around half-hard all the time like this since he was a horny teenager. It was hella distracting, to say nothing of embarrassing.

_What the fuck am I gonna do?_

Sam slumped in his chair, letting his head drop back and his legs sprawl open. He imagined Dean kneeling there between Sam's thighs, those intense green eyes staring at Sam as Dean's plush mouth drew Sam's erection inside. Oh, that supple mouth would be so hot, so wet. Another shiver wracked Sam, and his cock pushed against his fly. Sam undid the zipper, pulled himself out. His hand wasn't the feeling he was craving, but it would have to do.

He let his hips push his dick up into his fist, his thumb catching the first drops of pre-come and smearing it around. Maybe Dean would rise up from his knees and straddle Sam, those bow-legs spread wide across Sam's thighs. Dean's cock would be out too, fat and pink and hard, bobbing as Dean rose up. Sam grabbed his cock firmly, lining it up with Dean's hole, feeling it breach Dean's tight muscle. Oh fuck, yeah, that was it...

Breathing hard, Sam fucked his fist, his other hand clutching the chair arm. He peeled it away to let it slide down to his groin. He rubbed the base of his cock, the tender skin of his inner thighs, then let his fingers trail down to his balls, already tightly drawn up in their sac. He rolled them languidly, moaning as the sensation fueled his building orgasm. Harder, more, _Dean..._

He came, gasping and grunting, spunk all over his hand, his jeans, his shirt. Dream-Dean disappeared, leaving just Sam, sitting alone with a wet cock and messy clothes, gazing dumbly into the air. Shit, now he had to go change his clothes without Dean seeing. Once he caught his breath, that is.

_What is going on with me?_

Cat-Dean zoomed around the field outside the bunker. He felt like he had a ton of extra energy today, and hey, it was a beautiful day outside—sunny, blue sky, flowers budding. He caught a shrew and had a little snack, carefully licking his paws and face clean when he was done. In fact, he decided to give himself a little bath, sitting comfortably warm in the sunshine, licking all of his fur nice and clean. He curled up and blinked sleepily, finally dozing a bit.

Even as a cat, Dean dreamed, and this dream was a doozy. He saw Sam in his witchy workshop, and—shit. Sam's pants were open and his big ol' cock was sliding in and out of his hand. It was hot as fuck, watching that big, red mushroom head slickly appearing, then disappearing. Dean practically salivated, wondering what it would feel like, taste like in his mouth. He heard Sam moaning, saw him roll his balls, his legs splayed wide. It was so real; he could see everything like he was standing there, hear every slap of flesh, smell Sam's pre-come.

And when Sam came with a shout, Dean's cock popped out and he awoke with a start. His cat dick was hard, and he was able to crane his neck to see it. It was smooth and red, with white pointy bumps around the base. _Ah, the famous barbs,_ he thought. _Wonder how that works?_ He mrowled loudly, but it wasn't like there were any lady cats around at the moment. Besides, he wasn't really a cat, so that would just be weird.

Dean shook himself hard, willing his little cat peen to go away. It was resolute, however, so instead he changed back to human, lying naked in the grass and wildflowers. Still hard despite the transition, Dean grabbed himself and jerked off fast, replaying the Sammy scene over and over. It didn't take long for him to come, crying out as his body released, sending his seed out into the wild. He lay there semi-stunned, basking in the warmth and relaxation. Finally he got up, deciding to change back to cat-Dean first so that he wasn't cruising around the Bunker naked and nasty.

_What is going on with me?_

“Really?” Nic scowled as it looked back and forth between Dean and Sam. “Have you guys even talked about this?” It leaned on the bar, its gaze fixed on the Winchesters as they perched on bar stools at Hops and Shots.

Sam darted a glance at Dean, who was busy studying his beer label. “What are you talking about?” He really kinda knew, but was hoping to postpone it as long as possible.

Nic sighed. “You both texted me. I'm assuming from your emotionally stunted behavior that you didn't even attempt to discuss this together.” Its gray eyes snapped with annoyance.

Dean looked up, eyes wide as he tried to look innocent. Sam didn't buy it for a minute. “Discuss what?”

Nic snorted and pointed to a booth. “Go sit in that booth in the corner. I'll be there in a second.”

The Winchesters went over to the booth, sitting on the same side so they didn't have to look at each other. Sam knew why he wasn't looking at Dean, but he went for innocence too.

They watched as people came in and got drinks, settling onto barstools and at tables. Delia was working, bringing pitchers and mugs around, smiling and flirting. She ignored Sam and Dean, bypassing their booth without a glance. Sam saw Dean roll his eyes.

Nic finally came over. “I have a break, but this has to be quick. Now, let me sum this up for you two clodheads. You've each been having fantasies—sexual fantasies—about the other.”

Sam gave a little gasp and looked at Dean. “You...”

Dean rolled his eyes again, trying to be cool. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Moving on.”

Nic shook its head. “No, no 'moving on,' bro. This is important.”

Dean scoffed. “Hey, been in a bit of a dry spell. Happened to think about the nearest hot person. Case solved.”

“That's not it at all,” answered Nic, starting to sound more annoyed. “How about you shut the fuck up and let me explain?”

“Ooookay, spook boy.”

Sam kicked Dean under the table. “Stop being an ass, Dean. Explain what, Nic?”

Nic sat back and opened its hands. “Dudes...it's your bond. Your bond is developing and strengthening, right? You're more aware of each other's feelings?”

They both nodded in assent.

“This is more of the same. Only now it's the sexual aspect that's evolving.” Nic waited a second, but neither Sam or Dean responded. It continued with a sharp tone, “You knew this would happen, but you both kinda went into denial about it. Well, here it is. It's happening. Now you still don't have to act on it. That's your choice. But the bond is doing its thing. Just like you'll know better and faster if one of you is in danger, you're going to sense when one of you is having sex. It's a strong emotion and a strong physical reaction, and the bond is going to pick up on it.”

Sam felt a little faint. “Do we, um, will we know what we're...thinking? Or who our partner is, if there is one?”

Nic shrugged. “Hard to tell. Depends on how deep the bond gets. Best to assume you have no secrets.”

Dean choked on a sip of beer. Sam thumped him on the back, but Dean pushed him away. “'M fine, fine.” He coughed. “Well, that is just great.”

Nic frowned at him. “You knew that sex was potentially a part of this deal. You two are already so close, so in tune with each other, it's that much stronger. You can keep jerking off to fantasies of each other, or you can buck up and fuck.”

Sam fidgeted with his bottle. “Is there ah, any advantage to actually...acting on it?”

“Sure. Without adding sex to the mix, you are probably operating at around, let's say, eighty percent of your powers as a Witch, Sam. If you and Dean make that final connection, exchanging sexual energy, you would ratchet up to a full one hundred percent.” It shrugged. “It'll just depend on whether you decide to deal with it.”

“Yeeeaaah,” muttered Dean. He slammed his empty bottle down and waved for another.

“I'll get it, Dean. I gotta get back to work anyway.” Nic slid out from the booth and pointed a stern finger at them. “Talk to each other. That's an order.”

Nic walked away. Sam watched it go, then turned to look at Dean. Dean pointedly turned his head away, like he really was interested in the beer specials posted over the bar.

“Okay, so it's going to be like that? Jesus, Dean,” Sam said, feeling unreasonably irritated.

“Don't know what you're talking about, Sparky. I'm gonna get another bottle of Shock Top Wheat and maybe some fried pickles.” Dean exited the booth and sauntered over to the bar to place his order.

“Fine,” snapped Sam. “That's just great.” He too got up, only he headed for the door.


	4. Chapter 4

Nic ignored Dean after serving him his Shock Top and fried pickles. Dean sat at the bar, eating and drinking, letting his eyes rest on the television in the corner of the bar, where some game with a ball was being played. While he looked like he was watching it on the outside, on the inside Dean's mind was frantically running in circles. 

Sam. Witch. Dean. Familiar. Sex. Power. Sex. Magic. Sex. Desire. Sam.

Sex. Sam.

Round and round it all went like a crazy version of ring-around-the-rosie, until it was a big snarl in Dean's head. He could feel a headache brewing in his temples, and besides, his basket of pickles was empty.

“Yeah, guess I'll be heading home,” he said vaguely in Nic's direction, since Nic was still ignoring him. He put some bills on the table, happy that at least Delia had left him alone the whole time.

Dean admitted to himself that he was still in a pissy mood, but there was no point staying at the bar any longer. He could be just as pissy at home for less money. Hopefully, by the time he got back, Sam would be busy somewhere doing something that didn't involve Dean.

Of course, as luck would have it, Delia ran into him five paces from the door. She had just delivered beers to a nearby table and turned, colliding right into him. Dean couldn't help noticing how firm her breasts were as they smooshed into his chest, even with knowing what lay behind that sexy body.

“Oh my, I am so sorry!” she cooed, eyelashes batting overtime. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” said Dean, gritting his teeth in a fake smile. “I just need to get on home.”

“Of course. Hope we see you again real soon, Handsome!” Delia sailed away, with a flutter of her red-tipped fingers, and Dean, with a final relieved exhalation, went through the doors and onto the sidewalk.

Sam was making himself a snack in the kitchen when Dean banged in. He went straight for the refrigerator and got himself a beer, plopping down on one of the kitchen chairs. Sam decided that looked pretty good, so he got himself one as well. Twisting the cap off, he flipped it at the trashcan. It bounced off and hit the wall before rolling on the floor. Sam shrugged and kept on with making his snack. Knowing that leaving the cap on the floor would tick Dean off was a bonus.

“Sam! Aren't you going to pick that up?”

Dean gave him an annoyed look. 

“Cool your jets, Sparky. It's a fucking bottle cap.” Sam ran a colander of berries under the faucet to rinse them off.

Dean huffed and picked it up, pointedly throwing it at the can and making a bulls-eye. Sam rolled his eyes.

Sam gestured at his snack as a peace-offering.

“I'm making a yogurt and fruit parfait. Want one?”

Dean pretend-gagged. “Thanks, I'm good. I don't eat stuff that looks like jizz.”

That was it for Sam. 

“You know, I'm just trying to offer you a snack. A delicious, healthy snack. You don't have to be so gross about it.” Sam slammed the colander of freshly washed berries onto the counter, and fetched the yogurt from the fridge. “I'm sure you ate enough fried pickles for an entire football team.”

“They were delicious! All hot and crispy, and then that sour bite. Mmm—MM!” Dean licked his lips.

Sam watched Dean's tongue rolling over his pink lips, and somehow it angered him even more.

“Fine!” He spooned some yogurt into a dish, then scattered some berries over it.

“Fine!” Dean retorted. 

And then he turned into a cat.

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes. “Real mature, Dean.” 

Dean jumped lithely up onto the counter, walking down its length. He paused at the salt and pepper shakers. With a delicate paw, he batted the salt shaker off the counter.

“Dean! What the fuck, man!” Sam stared at his annoying feline brother.

Dean licked his paw, and then, just as gracefully, he knocked the pepper off too.

Sam huffed loudly, clattering his spoon onto the counter. Dean moved down and as he walked past Sam's spoon, his hind leg jerked out and kicked it off. It clattered loudly as it hit the floor.

“Goddammit, Dean! Stop this!” Sam's annoyance was giving way to outright anger.

Dean's tail lashed as he stared at Sam with unblinking green eyes. 

“Don't give me that! I know damn well you understand me.” Now Sam felt faintly ridiculous for arguing with a cat, even with reminding himself that the cat in question was his big brother.

Dean's little pink nose twitched, making his whiskers tremble. He went over to the yogurt container and sniffed it, recoiling with a tiny sneeze.

“Okay, so cats don't like yogurt. Whatever.” Despite his pique, Sam had to admit Dean's kitty mannerisms were pretty damn cute.

What was less cute was Dean's pink tongue _licking_ at the yogurt.

“Stop that! Get your cat tongue out of my food, dude!”

Dean hissed at Sam. Raising one front paw, Dean held Sam's gaze. 

“Oh no...don't you...”

The yogurt container tipped over onto the counter. Splashing his front paws squarely into the white mess, Dean turned tail and took off, leaving a trail of little white paw prints.

“DEAN!”

“Sam. Sam. Wake up, Sam.”

Sam groaned. The voice was intruding on his delicious sleep. 

“Go 'way.”

_”Sam.”_

The urgency in that one got him. Sam opened his eyes, blearily looking around. 

“Dean. What's up?” Sam sat up, blinking hard.

“There's a fire.” Dean looked drawn and pale.

“Where?”

“At Hops and Shots.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam jumped up. “Is anyone there? Is Nic okay?”

Dean's eyes were dark and his expression was grim. “Don't know yet. Just caught the alert on the scanner.”

They scrambled into jeans, shirts, and jackets, meeting down in the garage at the Impala. Dean raced her to the bar, ignoring speed limits. All the local police were probably at the fire anyway.

That guess was right—three or four police cars, two fire engines, and an ambulance were all sitting in the parking lot.

They waited until it was quiet before starting their own investigation. The fire was out, the emergency vehicles gone. There'd been no report of injuries or fatalities, which was a relief. Still hot, the burned and water-soaked wood steamed as they walked around to the back. Sam murmured a spell of protection over him and Dean, warding off the worst of the heat and smoke, and they carefully picked their footing, making their way inside.

It was pretty devastated, that was clear. There didn't seem to be much of anything left except portions of wall, ash, and charred wood. Scraps of things lay around; debris, broken glass, black clumps that were unidentifiable, but probably melted plastic and the like.

Sam couldn't help flashing back to the Roadhouse, and walking through that similarly charred ruin. The worst had been finding Ash's watch lying amid the burnt timbers. They'd thought Ellen and Jo were inside as well, but fortune had smiled in that they'd been away, and so their lives had been spared.

Not that the Harvelle women had been spared in the end though. It had taken a long time for the flashbacks of hellhounds snarling and the hardware store exploding to fade in Sam's nightmares.

“Anything?” asked Dean, coming over to where Sam stood. Sam shook his head to clear the memories and refocus on the situation at hand.

“Not yet.”

They split up again, carefully traversing the treacherous terrain, the floor littered with debris. Sam headed to where the stockroom had been—maybe something there had ignited? With all that alcohol to fuel it, it would have burned fast and hot, a built-in accelerant. What had been the fuse?

Picking his way inside the stockroom, Sam could see the shelves where the liquor had been stored were now heaps of shattered and melted glass. Everything was destroyed. Some of the ceiling was still extant, and Sam looked up to see if he could tell a burn path. One portion of it was actually fairly clear, smoke-blackened, but intact.

Sam reached up and swiped at it. White marks showed underneath the gray soot. He could see curved double lines and a sigil. He rubbed some more, anticipating where the marks led.

It was undeniably a devil's trap. 

After Nic had been trapped, they had opened that trap in several places, to make sure he wouldn't accidentally get trapped again. This one, as far as Sam could tell, was intact. Someone had reapplied the trap.

Sam felt a sick feeling in his belly.

“Dean! Dean, here in the storeroom.” he called out, not going further until Dean was there. 

When Dean arrived, Sam pointed out the devil's trap to him. Dean got his meaning immediately.

“Fuck. Tell me it wasn't here, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “I don't have a good feeling about this.”

He conjured a light, hanging it in the air for better visibility. Flashlights were prone to shadows and the imitation of movement. They didn't want to take any chances or miss anything.

They had advanced further into the room, holding their breath. It looked empty, other than the fire damage, but the hair on the back of Sam's neck was pricking. He muttered a spell of revealing, and that was when they saw it. A blackened figure, lying curled up on its side. It was barely recognizable as humanoid, more resembling one of the figures in Pompeii.

“No,” whispered Dean. Sam couldn't speak, simply reaching out to grasp his brother's arm. “Is it...is it Nic? Sammy, can you tell for sure?”

Sam nodded. Letting go of Dean's arm, he spoke and gestured. A mist rose from the figure, lifting the charcoal and soot away until they could see it more clearly.

Nic, curled up as if trying to protect itself. Red rope bound its hands and feet, and again a bandanna was tied around its mouth, gagging it. They couldn't see Nic's face, for which Sam was profoundly grateful. He could only imagine the pain and horror that would have been reflected there.

Dean made a choked noise, retreating a couple of steps before turning away to vomit. Sam's stomach roiled too, but he couldn't look away from Nic's body. Nic had been a demon, but it had worked with them, had coached Dean through his transition to becoming a Familiar. It had become a friend. It hadn't deserved this.

Dean reappeared next to Sam, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve. “What the hell...why do this? Was it another hunter maybe, just coming across another demon and killing it?”

“Would they have torched the whole bar, though? That seems overkill.” Sam shook his head. “I don't know for sure, but I do think this was a targeted attack.”

“Let's keep looking around.” Dean flicked a glance at Nic again. “Can you...put that back?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, and the mist floated back to encompass the body again, leaving Nic cloaked once more in the blackness of the fire's destruction.

They looked around the storeroom, but found nothing else that offered any information. Moving into the main area of the bar, they each took a side, meeting in the middle to go behind the bar itself. This part was not as badly damaged; clearly the fire had indeed started in the back. Possibly the whole purpose of it had been to kill Nic and disguise it as arson. Sam wouldn't rule that out at all.

A glint of silver on a piece of the remaining bar top by the mostly melted cash register caught Sam's eye. 

“Dean,” he said, gesturing to it. Dean came over and picked it up. 

“Shit.” Dean turned it over in his hand before handing it to Sam.

Sam knew this item well. It was Dean's Zippo. Weirdly, the lighter was intact, unblemished by soot or flame.

“It's a message,” said Dean grimly. “It's a fucking, goddamn message. This whole shebang was meant for us.”

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “Killing Nic, leaving the lighter, torching the bar--it's aimed at us. And they blatantly want us to know that.” He looked around again at the ruin. “What a terrible way to send a message.”

Dean rubbed his forehead with one hand, the other still holding the lighter. “Why do this?”

Sam shook his head. “I don't know. We need to go back to the bunker, do some research, make some calls. Something's going on that's directed at us, and we gotta figure it out before we end up like Nic.”

Dean slung an arm around Sam's shoulders, pulling him in for a quick, fierce hug. “We will. We always do.”

They left in silence.

When they went to see Ed, as a part of their probe into the fire, Dean and Sam didn't bother pretending that they were official investigators at all. Ed already knew them too well as locals for that to fly. They simply went to his house as themselves.

Ed's house was an old but tidily maintained ranch. It could have used some fresh paint, but the lawn was recently mowed, and a veranda with a couple of wicker chairs lent a welcoming air. Sam and Dean went up the front steps and knocked on his screen door.

Ed looked worn out when he answered their knock. White stubble covered the lower half of his face, and his blue eyes were darkly shadowed. His round cheeks seemed to sag, but he mustered a smile when he saw the Winchesters. Dean reminded himself that the man had lost his livelihood, and dialed back any potential aggression Dean felt due to Nic's death.

Ushering them in, Ed made a feeble joke about having a beer, but instead they all had coffee. The Winchesters took a seat on Ed's worn, burgundy corduroy couch while he settled back into his brown pleather recliner, clearly molded to his form.

“First, of course, is that we are so sorry this happened to you, Ed. It's just terrible,” Sam said softly, putting his coffee cup down on the old-fashioned, wooden coffee table. “Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

Ed shook his head and sighed. “Closed up like usual, came back home. Had a bite—even at two a.m., I'm hungry after working, y'know? Watched a little TV while I ate, and then I hit the hay. Next thing I know, the fire department is ringing me with the news.”

Dean watched Ed as he spoke. Nothing in his behavior showed that anything was untoward. Ed was shaky and pale, but that certainly jived with having his bar burned to the ground.

“Anything out of the ordinary the last couple of days? Strangers asking weird questions? Anything just...weird or off-kilter, like odd smells or the electricity flickering a lot?” asked Dean.

“Weird? I run a bar, Son,” Ed managed a chuckle. “I always got weird going on. But no, it was all the usual kind of stuff. Regular crowd. Someone drinks too much, someone wants to start a fight, you know how it goes. Nothing out of the ordinary that I can recall.”

Sam asked, “What about your staff? Anyone new? Anyone with a beef?”

“Nope. Far as I know, everyone was good. Delia is the newest employee, but even she's been there a couple of months now. And man, is she a draw.” Ed winked. “I'm too old for that nonsense, but the young men flock around her.”

Dean cleared his throat. He could well understand the draw Delia possessed, and it was called Siren 38 EE. Sam knocked his elbow into Dean's side.

“Well, we are sure sorry about this, Ed. Let us know if we can do anything, okay?” said Sam.

“Hey, Ed, what about Nic?” Dean cut in. “I know it's been there a while. Anyone ever give Nic a hard time? Have a problem with the whole gender-fluidity thing?”

Ed frowned. “Well, there were a couple of guys that hassled it a bit at first. They couldn't get the whole “it” thing. Kept asking it if it was a girl or a boy, so they'd know how to fuck it. But I finally punched one of them in the nose, and that put a stop to that nonsense. Plus Nic doesn't take any crap, you know? Polite, but firm. No problem for weeks now.” He looked at them with alarm. “Are you saying this has something to do with Nic? Is it okay?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, caution bleeding from both their minds. Dean didn't want to be the one to tell him about Nic—he'd leave that to the professionals. 

“We're just trying to figure out what could have happened. It's a terrible thing.” Dean rose, offering his hand to Ed. “Again, our sympathies.”

They all shook hands, and the Winchesters left Ed sitting morosely in his recliner.

The mood back at the bunker was subdued the next day. Dean hadn't really been able to sleep; his dreams were dark and unpleasant, and the vision of Nic's blackened body kept resurfacing. Finally he gave up and arose, shedding his clothes to switch into his mountain lion form and race in the fields outside through the dark. He ran and ran, trying to exhaust himself and find some peace. He grew tired, but peace was not to be found.

Returning to the bunker, Dean resumed human form and took a shower. He went to the kitchen and got some coffee, debating whether or not to add some whiskey. Sam interrupted his musing, so Dean skipped the booze for the moment, not wishing any comments about his dissolute drinking habits.

“I'm waiting for the police and fire reports to come in,” Sam said, pouring his own coffee. “I want to see what they found before making any suppositions. Other than, of course, that this was probably a supernaturally based attack, which won't be in their report.”

“I was thinking when I went for a run earlier this morning.” Dean had to smile at Sam's over-the-top look of shock. “Yes, me. Thinking, running. Haha, funny man.” He mock-frowned at Sam, enjoying the easy banter. “Took my lion out. Turns out running outside is a great time to mull things over. So, I think I figured out how my lighter got there.”

Sam sat down, sipping his coffee. “How?”

“After you left yesterday, I went back up to the bar. I had another beer and those fried pickles, right? Nic...it was busy ignoring me because it was pissed at us. So I left as soon as I was done, and just before I went out the door, Delia ran into me. I'll bet anything that she lifted my lighter then, under the cover of squishing her boobs into my chest.”

Sam snorted in a mix of laughter and disgust.

“So Delia is part of this operation? Who would be pulling the strings on a Siren like this? It's got to be someone pretty powerful. Nic was no slouch, so to trap it like that and have Delia involved, we're not talking about a run-of-the-mill demon.” Sam shook his head. “I don't get it yet. I want to look the reports over and see what they used as an accelerant and a fuse. This sucker burned hot as fuck.”

“Do we want to call Rowena? Get her take on this?”

“Not right away. I'd rather just be sure if this was a human or supernatural fire first. Then we can ask for her input, if necessary. Seeing as we haven't heard from her in a while, I'll bet she's busy down there. Remodeling Hell isn't easy, I'm sure.” Sam sighed and drained his cup. “I'll go check on those reports.”

Dean stayed in the kitchen a little longer, pouring himself a second cup of coffee, this time with that dollop of whiskey. He sat back down and mused not as much about how this had happened, but _why_. Who would be after them? It wasn't like having a target on their backs was a new thing for the Winchesters, but things had been pretty quiet for a while. What changed recently?

He set his cup down as the thought hit him. _He'd_ changed. He wasn't just Dean Winchester, hunter extraordinaire and studly sex machine anymore. He was Dean, Sam's Familiar. The man, the cat, the mountain lion. He was the new factor.

So was that the catalyst for the fire? What kind of threat could his changing have brought on? Who was it threatening?

That was the twenty thousand dollar question, and he didn't have an answer.

Dean got up, rinsed out his cup, and put it in the sink. He went to see what Sam had found out, and if his brother had any more answers than Dean did.

Sam sat back and studied the information on his laptop screen. It was a mixture of expected and surprising news.

The chemicals found at the fire confirmed his suspicion that it had been the work of a demon. Sulfur traces had been found throughout the building, which was a little puzzling for the investigators, but not for Sam. Check.

More puzzling was that the fire investigators had decided that the cause of the fire had been fireworks. Lots of fireworks, seeded throughout the building, but concentrated in the storeroom. There was no gasoline, no other accelerants, just remnants and casings of the fireworks. Sam could only think there had to be piles of them, massive cakes and rockets, to cause a fast and hot blaze like that. The explosion had to be the reason for the speed of the fire, and explained how it consumed the bar so quickly.

_(And Nic. Don't forget Nic.)_

Sam fought down a gag. He didn't think he'd ever forget finding Nic's blackened body in the storeroom. The magic mist he'd conjured slowly revealing Nic's charred form, where it had been cloaked in invisibility...

_Sulfur and fireworks. What does that add up to?_

Dean walked in, his serious expression telling Sam that Dean had been musing on this too.

“Any news, Sammy?”

“Sulfur traces—no surprise there. But what's unusual is that the fire was apparently an explosion caused by fireworks. Fireworks set throughout the bar.”

Dean looked puzzled. “That is unusual. Like, Fourth of July-type fireworks?”

“Yep. It's definitely uncommon as an arson tool. Combined with the sulfur, it's got to mean something.”

Dean nodded in agreement. “Well, I think I have a piece of the puzzle too. I was thinking about what could have happened to provoke a demon attack like this. You know, what's changed and antagonized someone out there. And I think it's me.”

Sam stared at him. “You?” Dean's meaning dawned on him. “You mean because you've become my Familiar? The dynamics have changed?”

“Yep. Looks like someone has an objection to the Magical Mystical Winchester brothers. Maybe it tipped the scales? Pissed someone off? I don't know why yet, but I think it's a possible catalyst.”

Sam contemplated Dean's theory aloud. “Okay, let's look at that. First of all, you're much more powerful now, just on your own. And you make me a lot more powerful too. That's a big power shift over to Team Winchester. I can see there'd be forces out there that wouldn't like that.”

“I think we should talk to Rowena soon, but we need to have something more concrete than this. Let's see what kind of demons or other critters might have a hand in the fire first.”

“Time to hit the books.” They got up and went to the library, pulling out anything that looked pertinent and taking those volumes to the main room for research. Dean took a quick side trip to the kitchen for beers.

A couple of quiet hours passed, broken only by the sound of pages flipping and small noises of frustration from the researchers. Sam could feel Dean's tension rising as the search remained unproductive, and he was thinking about sending Dean on an errand when something caught his eye.

“Hey—I think I've got something. A fire demon named Ukobach. Here: 'an inferior demon who maintains the fires of Hell. He is said to be the inventor of fireworks and the art of frying foods. He is charged by Beelzebub to maintain the "oil in the infernal boilers", which is made of the blood of the damned.'”

“Hey, fried food! Anyone who invented frying food can't be all bad, can he? I mean, French fries and fried pickles are food of the gods!” Dean snickered. “Although if he's inferior--”

Sam shook his head. “Get your head out of your stomach, dude. Inferior here just means he's lower ranked, not incompetent. The use of fireworks in the bar fire makes sense with him.”

“But what about Delia? Where does she fit in? And why would he be coming after us?”

“I don't know the answers to those questions, but it could be a start anyway.” Sam shoved the books away and rubbed his eyes. “Man, I need a break. Want to get some food?”

“Sure. Pizza? Chinese? Mexican? I can always get some fried pickles again.” Dean snickered as he got up and stretched.

“Chinese. Shrimp and broccoli, and sweet and sour soup.”

“You got it, geek boy.” Dean waved and headed out to the garage, leaving Sam to sit and think.

 _Why is this happening? What does Ukobach want with us?_ Sam sighed and decided to go take a shower while Dean got the food.

Dean tried not to think about anything related to the case as he drove to the Chinese restaurant. Maybe he'd take a lion-run again later, or watch _Die Hard_ or something. Drinking sounded good too. Maybe drinking while he watched _Die Hard_. That sounded even better. He wondered idly if his lion could drink.

Driving back home with the provisions, Dean was preoccupied by the delicious smell of food filling the car. He knew the crab rangoons were sitting in a container on the top of the bag—maybe he could snake it out and snitch a couple. He loved some crab rangoons, that's for sure.

He saw a car sitting by the side of the road, its hood up in the universal road signal of distress. Dean sighed. Those rangoons were calling his name, but it went against his grain to ignore a driver in distress. 

He pulled over in front of the disabled car, getting out and walking back to it.

“Hey! You need a hand?” he called. Getting up to the driver's door, he knocked on it and waved to get their attention. “Hey, can I give you a hand?”

The driver turned around to face him. Delia sat there looking out at Dean, her face showing as much shock as he felt at seeing her.

“What the hell!” He yanked on the door, pulling it open and grabbing her by the arm, half-pulling her out of the driver's seat. “Bitch, what the fuck is going on?”

She cried out, rubbing her arm once he released her.

“What...I don't know what you're talking about.” She pouted, and Dean couldn't help noticing how red and pretty her lips were. He rolled his eyes at himself. Damn Siren charm!

“Listen, sister, don't try that Siren shit on me! Been there, done that. I know what you really are, so cut it out. Now, I want to know what the hell happened with the fire at the bar.” He fought to keep his temper under control. They needed answers, and Delia just might have some.

She started crying for real then, tears rolling down her face and smearing her mascara. “I can't! They'll kill me! I was trying to leave when my car overheated.” 

Dean went around to the front of her car, looking it over. He could see the steam rising from the radiator. “It just needs to cool off and have some fresh water put in.” He came back to her and said, “I'm bringing you back with me. Sam and I have a lot of questions that you might be able to help us answer. Then, if I'm satisfied that you're telling the truth about the answers, I'll bring you back here and make sure your car is running. Deal?”

She nodded, her breath still hitching. “Okay. Just don't—don't let them kill me.” She grabbed a sweater and her purse from the front seat and shut the door. “Come on, we gotta get out of here before anyone sees us!”

She ran around to the passenger door of the Impala, jumping in and looking around anxiously. Dean got back in, started Baby up, and got back on the road.

By the time they arrived at the bunker, Delia had relaxed to a degree. Judging by his wide eyes and puzzled expression, Sam was startled to see her come up from the underground garage with Dean.

“Delia! What...?”

“She's running--she says _they_ are after her. I want to find out who _they_ are, and see if she can answer some of our questions.” Dean put the bag of food down. “I get two extra crab rangoons for this, dude.”

Sam grumbled, but gave him the extra rangoons. He offered some food to Delia to be polite, but she declined. Setting down with their dinner, Sam and Dean took turns asking her questions.

Sam started off. “Why was Hops and Shots burned down?”

“It was a, um, a 'strategic move' from what I heard.” Delia shifted uncomfortably.

“Strategic?” asked Dean around his bite of ginger Szechuan beef. “What was strategic about it?”

Delia played nervously with the buttons on her shirt. Dean hoped they stayed put, because, _man,_ they were straining to contain those massive boobs. “It was to send a message. And to, uh, to get Nic out of the way.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other. “So Nic's death really wasn't a accident? That's why someone set the fire, just to eliminate Nic?” asked Sam. Of course he and Dean already knew that, but they didn't want to tip their hand.

“No. That was half of it, to get rid of Nic.” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I liked Nic. He—it--was always nice to me. I didn't even know it was a demon until the end.”

Dean put down his fork, his food suddenly tasteless. “Why was it so important to kill Nic? It wasn't any big mucky-muck.”

Delia looked directly at Dean. “It was an attack on _you._ Nic was getting too important to you.”

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the stomach for a second. Fortunately, Sam stepped in.

“What does that mean, too important to Dean? Why was that a problem?”

She sighed. “It was teaching Dean stuff. Magic stuff. How to be a Familiar. Dean was getting stronger, and the stronger he got, the stronger Sam would get. If they got to Dean, maybe even disabled him, he'd be weaker, and Sam would be distracted.”

Now Sam and Dean were really confused. How did Nic factor so heavily into this? Why did it matter so much about Sam and Dean's power bond? Time to dig deeper.

“Who cared about whether we got stronger? About Dean being a Familiar and all?” Sam set his food down now too, accepting instead the glass of whiskey that Dean handed him. The burn down his throat helped to center him.

“Please don't ask me! They said I could just leave, that they wouldn't hurt me. Unless I told anyone.” Her cheeks were wet, and the tears dripped off her chin to make dark spots on her shirt.

Dean growled, “Tough titty, babe. Our friend was killed apparently for no good reason. We need to know who's behind this. We'll get you away afterward, but you have to talk first.”

Delia wrung her hands together. “It's a demon. More powerful than Nic, some kind of big fire demon. He set up the fireworks at the bar that caused the explosion and the fire. He told me to lift your lighter, leave it there as a sign for you. I didn't know he was gonna kill Nic, I swear.”

Sam and Dean were silent after that, contemplating what Delia had said.

Dean sent Sam a cloud with question marks swirling around in it. Sam nodded to show his understanding. There were still too many questions about the fire demon. And distraction? Why did they want to distract Sam? From what?

 _This isn't fear. Someone out there has a plan,_ Sam thought back to Dean. 

Delia simply sat there, clearly drained with what she'd revealed so far and her fear of retribution.

“Do you know the name of the fire demon? Did you talk directly with him?” Dean finally asked.

She shook her head. “No, I never met him. It was always just someone on his team. I don't know his name—just that he's all about fire. Like, the fireworks, and, um, oh! He's under Beelzebub's command. He said something about blood for oil, fuel for Hell.” Delia shuddered. “I thought that was super gross, so I was just as happy not to see him personally.”

Sam pushed his food away. “Okay, Delia. Dean's going to take you back to your car now and make sure it's running. You get away from here. Far, far away, and never come back. This is a one-time deal.” Delia started to say something grateful, but Sam held up a hand and stopped her. “Don't thank us. If we see you again, we'll kill you ourselves. Go.”

Dean led her to the garage and they drove out onto the road again. Delia stayed quiet the entire time.

They saw her car well before they got to it. The black plumes of smoke from the torched wreck rose high into the orange and pink clouds of a Kansas sunset. When they pulled up near it, they had to stay well back from the heat of the flames billowing out from the shattered windows and from underneath the still-raised hood.

“Oh my God,” Delia whispered. “They tried to kill me anyway.”

“Yup," Dean answered tersely. “This guy is not fucking around.” He turned to look at her. “What now?”

“I don't know. Where am I going to go? What if he finds me?” She looked smaller, huddled over herself as if trying to hide right there in the Impala.

Dean dragged a hand over his face. He had no real compassion for her, but she had kept her end of the bargain, and she looked human enough that it was hard to just kick her out to find her own way. “Fine, I'll drop you at the bus station.”

She nodded, and they returned to the Impala. Dean brought her to the Lebanon bus station, where Delia got out and turned to him. 

“Don't thank me,” Dean growled. “I really don't give a rat's ass what happens to you now. We're done with you.”

He put the Impala back into gear and left her there, standing in the middle of the Greyhound station.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam paced anxiously in the library. His mind was chewing over what Delia had told them. They'd definitely learned a few things, but that in turn had led to new questions.

 _First things first,_ he thought. _Let's look up this demon, find out just who we're dealing with._

With the information they'd gotten from Delia, Sam was able to pinpoint who he felt was the best suspect in the demon lexicon—Ukobach. Ukobach was a fire demon—not highly ranked, but not bottom of the barrel either. He oversaw fire and fireworks, which certainly tied in with the bar's destruction, as well as the incinerated car. There were references to using blood as oil in Hell's furnaces, so that fit Delia's information too.

The big question remained, however. Why would Ukobach be out for the Winchesters? Why did he kill Nic and burn down the bar? Clearly Nic had been an obstacle of some kind, and it was tied in with Dean, but what was the motive behind it?

“Ugh, stupid demons!” Sam groaned, sitting back in his chair and covering his face with his hands. Damn, he was tired. He just wanted to go lie down and sleep for a week. But they couldn't afford to brush off this threat, so after a moment he sat up and got back to work.

When Dean got back to the bunker, Sam was further dismayed by his tale. Dean filled Sam in on finding Delia's car blazing by the side of the road, and how openly frightened she was by the blatant threat. Sam, in turn, relayed what he'd discovered about Ukobach. Dean agreed that they now knew a little more about who they were looking at for Nic's death, but they were still somewhat stymied about why Dean's role as a Familiar should be such a problem for a demon like that. There was still some piece of the puzzle that they were missing. In the meantime, they needed to get ready for further attacks, and look into putting this demon down.

Dean went into the kitchen to grab a beer. When he came back, he turned his chair around, facing Sam directly as he rested his arms on the chair back.

“We need to talk. I think it might be time for us to complete our bond.” Dean's eyes were fixed on Sam's as he spoke.

Sam studied the gravity of Dean's expression, felt the brush of Dean's mind _sex power love magic_ on his, and _knew_ exactly where Dean's thoughts were leading to.

“I don't want to push you into anything you're not comfortable with,” Sam said firmly. “We've been doing fine so far, and our psychic bond is getting stronger all the time. We don't have to force this. I'm not going to coerce you into something you'll resent me for later.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. But I think events are ramping up, and we can't afford to leave out any factor that can help us. Nic said clearly that taking this final step would boost your power and solidify us as a team. This will make a significant difference for us.”

“Yes, it will, but I don't want us to rush into anything that will cause us more difficulties down the road,” argued Sam. He squashed the part of him that yearned for this very thing to happen, trying to lock it away so that Dean wouldn't pick up on it. The last thing he wanted was for Dean to agree just because he could feel how badly Sam wanted it.

Dean sighed heavily. “Look, I'm going to call a spade a spade here.” He took a big swallow of beer and cleared his throat. “I could _feel_ you the other night. When you were jerking off. You were thinking about me, and pulling your pud, and I could feel it so strongly I jacked off too. So I think we're already thinking about each other sexually, right? And if we act on it, you'll be juiced up all the way.” Dean looked hard at Sam. “I don't think we can afford to cut any corners. I am one hundred percent okay with this. Frankly, a lot of me really wants this now. So stop worrying about forcing me to do something I don't want to do, and let's get down to business.”

With that, Dean got up from his chair, and stood in front of Sam. Reaching out, Dean took Sam's face in both hands and kissed him.

Sam's initial shock froze him for a second, but only a second. He wrapped his arms around Dean and pulled him in, holding him tightly while they kissed again. He relished the freedom of finally doing what he'd wanted to do for so long. Dean was so solid, his strong, muscular frame a far cry from any woman Sam had ever been with. Sam didn't have to worry about using his strength--he knew Dean could match anything Sam gave him.

“We going to do this now?” asked Sam. “I mean, no pressure.” He licked his lips. _I'm tasting Dean on my mouth..._ He gave a little shiver, already wanting more.

“Yeah, now. No pressure, my ass.” Dean kissed him again, harder and with more tongue. “Hey, who's gonna top?”

Getting started wasn't as awkward as Dean feared it might be. He'd fooled around with guys before, and apparently so had Sam, as he told it. Those experimental college days and all. So talking about what-goes-where wasn't too bad. 

And it was _Sam_. His brother, his partner, the one man Dean trusted with both his life and his heart.

Sam. That fact alone made everything easier, made it flow more naturally. Dean was not attuned to anyone in the world the way he was attuned to Sam.

Dean had denied it for a long time. For most of his life, to be honest. He'd refused to admit how he felt about his little brother, balking at the whole incest barrier. But the wall that had cracked during their mutual masturbation session now blew apart as Dean finally, fully gave in to his deepest love and hottest desire.

Sam.

They kept kissing as they drifted along the bunker hallway, until they ended up in Dean's room. Sam had to admit, Dean did have the nicer bed. Dean pushed Sam down onto the mattress and stood there just looking at him. Sam lay back and started unbuttoning his shirt, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's. With every button Sam undid, Dean's eyes darkened, pupils blowing large until the green was merely a thin ring around the black.

Sam started on his fly, pushing his jeans down and kicking them off. His erection jutted up inside his boxer briefs, and Dean licked his lips. Watching Dean's tongue come out and shine up those amazing lips made Sam catch his breath in pure lust. His cock twitched in agreement, and Sam could feel a wet spot start soaking through his underwear. Carefully pulling the elastic out and over his hard-on, Sam kicked his boxers away as well, leaving himself naked before his brother's steady gaze.

“You going to just stand there, or are you gonna get naked and join me?” Sam's voice was rough with arousal. He ran a hand down his body and stroked his cock a couple of times, just in case he hadn't caught Dean's full attention yet.

“Fucker,” Dean said, cracking a half-smile. “Like I'm gonna pass this up.” His hands moved to his shirt, pulling it and his t-shirt off over his head at the same time. Sam had seen Dean's chest a million times before, but this time was different. This time, it was all for him. Dean's freckled skin over sleek muscles, his pink nipples already hardening—it was all for Sam to look at, study, touch. 

“Come on, asshole.” Sam wanted to keep it a little light, matching Dean's banter, because he was pretty sure that soon he wasn't going to be able to form words at all.

As he did with his shirts, Dean pushed down his boxer briefs and jeans at the same time, kicking them across the room. His dick bobbed upon being released, and Sam's mouth watered at the weighty movement. Swollen and red, it strained toward Sam. He reached out and took it in his hand, his jaw dropping when he felt how hard Dean was, how his flesh burned against Sam's palm. Sure, Sam knew what a dick felt like. But he'd never felt Dean's dick-- _Dean's_ dick!--and just that awareness made Sam gasp again, searching for the oxygen he'd been robbed of while reveling in Dean's beautiful body.

Sam tugged on Dean, who finally collapsed onto the bed, practically laying on Sam. The full body contact was like a bolt of lighting, frying Sam's nerve endings as if his skin was about to burst into flame. “Goddamn,” he whispered, holding Dean tightly. Dean's skin was so warm, so smooth. Dean wriggled while chuckling in Sam's ear. His cock dug into Sam's thigh, leaving a wet smear on his skin.

“You like this?” Dean murmured, kissing Sam's neck. “Want some more?” He nipped above Sam's collarbone and moved his hips again. Moving one hand up, Dean slid it through Sam's hair, stroking through the strands. “Like fucking silk, Sam. Always wanted to do this, see if it was as soft as it looks.”

“Shut up,” croaked Sam, and pulled Dean's face down to his for more kisses.

They spent several long moments like this, familiarizing themselves with each other's bodies in this new way, their kisses becoming hungrier and more urgent. Their lips explored each other's necks, shoulders, and ears, returning again and again to crush their mouths together.

“I'm gonna come from this soon if we don't move on,” Sam said huskily. “What do you want? How we going to do this?”

“I wanna fuck you,” growled Dean. “And I'm sure you wanna fuck me. But I think this time, we need to be more...reciprocal. Like, on an even keel.” He sucked on Sam's ear lobe.

“O...okay. Stop that then.” Sam pushed Dean up so they could talk. “What are you thinking about?”

Dean sat up, his cock brushing against Sam's and making them both moan. “It's about energy, right? And the two of us bonding completely. So it's all circular. Giving and receiving power between us. I was thinking, we could sixty-nine. I give unto you as you give unto me. We share us, equally. And it's a circle, so we're unbroken. Sex magic.”

Sam stared at Dean. “Wow, you really thought about this.”

Dean nodded. “Dude, that's my job, right? Help my Witch?” He smiled. “Just, no one told me how much I'd enjoy it.”

He lay back down on Sam for a few more leisurely, but passionate, kisses.

“You stay like that.” Dean got up and turned around, facing Sam's cock. Looking over his shoulder, Dean smirked, “I assume you're familiar with this?”

“Fuck you,” Sam laughed. “Gimme that dick.”

Dean carefully arranged himself over Sam; his thighs spread above Sam's shoulders, Dean's hands on either side of Sam's thighs. Eye-to-eye with Sam's cock, Dean took a moment to appreciate it. It was almost as fat as Dean's, but longer. Sam's pubes were dark, dense but trimmed, which Dean was grateful for. He wondered what Sam's thoughts were about discovering that Dean was completely bare.

He gripped Sam's cock, licking across the head and down the shaft, keeping a firm hand on it as Sam shuddered. Again Dean licked, giving it a couple of good strokes while he nuzzled into Sam's groin. 

So absorbed was Dean that he forgot about Sam's mouth. _Hotwet_ pleasure enveloped Dean's dick as Sam began sucking on Dean's cock. Sam's hands—big enough to span Dean's ass--pulled his hips closer and drove his dick into Sam's mouth.

_Holy fuck._

Dean was panting, struggling to balance himself while Sam was sucking his cock like a goddamn popsicle. His thighs trembled, and Sam soothed Dean's skin with slow strokes of his hands. Taking a deep breath, Dean focused on the gorgeous dick in front of him, sucking down as much of it as he could fit.

As Sam's cock slid into Dean's mouth, Dean felt a shock resonate throughout his body. He paused, and he felt Sam pause too, so clearly Sam had also felt it. After a moment, they resumed mouthing and sucking each other. A strong sensation like an electrical current reverberated through them. Dean could see it in his mind's eye; deep yellow electricity circling between him and Sam, running through one body and cock into the other and around again. It contained their pleasure, but it was more than that. Dean could tell they were not just gratifying themselves, but feeding their power into each other.

Sam pulled off simultaneously with Dean. Dean instinctively knew what they needed to do to complete the circuit. He nipped on Sam's tender skin where his leg met his torso, felt the sharpness of Sam's teeth on his. Licking at the tiny drops of blood, Dean took Sam's cock back into his mouth.

 _Blood, saliva, semen. Fluids of life._ It sounded like Rowena was speaking, but somehow that didn't even disturb Dean. He felt himself hurtling toward his orgasm, could feel the tension in Sam's body too. The blood was the final step, the last piece needed for their bond to fall into place. Dean's passion pulsed through him; the more urgent his need, the more he could feel Sam's arousal, could feel Sam's mirrored rush to climax.

They came together, thick spurts of white down their throats, absorbing everything the other had to give as they rode out their pleasure. Sam's fingers tightened on Dean's hips, and he knew he'd leave bruises; he was squeezing Sam's thighs so hard, his fingers ached.

_Blood, saliva, semen. The bond is complete and sealed._

Dean fell to one side of Sam, gasping raggedly, one hand on Sam's belly to feel it rise and fall with Sam's labored breathing. 

_Love you._

_Love you_.

Dean managed to twist his body around and rest his head on Sam's shoulder, one hand on Sam's thumping heart. Sam held him close, and they drifted into sleep.

Sleeping together had been the norm for Sam and Dean during their life growing up on the road. For most of Sam's childhood, he'd slept with Dean, backs pressed together or with Dean as the big spoon. Some of it had been dictated by their environment--cold motel rooms and apartments, a shortage of bedrooms, John needing space to drink and pass out. Beyond those circumstances though, Dean had known Sam needed the warmth and comfort that sleeping together provided--a feeling of love, security, and family. There had been no mom to tuck them in, no one bringing extra blankets or making sure their tummies were full before bedtime. Dean had been it, he had done it all, and he had done his best to do it all for Sam.

And frankly, Dean had needed it too. The memories of cuddling with Mary had been too distant. Despite being older, he had turned to Sam for the very same comfort and reassurance. Snuggled in bed together, sharing warmth and closeness, hearts practically beating in sync, had been a natural occurrence for them.

So waking up now in the same bed as Sam was not all that jarring.

Waking up in the same bed as Sam after they'd made love was.

Dean woke before Sam, getting up and getting dressed while he watched his sleeping brother. Sam's dark hair tumbled over his high forehead, dark lashes fanned above his sculpted cheekbones. Dean's heart swelled with love; hands down, there was no one as beautiful to him as his brother. Sam's dark pink lips were still a little puffy from last night's activities. Dean shivered, remembering how those lips had taken him apart and put him back together.

Deciding against cooking, Dean went to the garage and took Baby out. He decided he'd get some breakfast, something extra nice for Sam. His lover now. Dean thought his heart would just about give out, he was so happy. _I guess once you blow through those taboos, anything's possible,_ he thought, a smile on his face while he took Baby down the road.

He was familiar with the early morning mirages on the road, dark pools shimmering on the pavement. But this one was not a mirage. Baby's tires hit it and she spun out, spiraling so fast he was instantly dizzy. He fought the wheel to bring her back under control, but there was no traction to be had. Dean thought fleetingly about how grateful he was that there were no trees around, and that Sam wasn't with him, but suddenly a ring of fire blazed up around him and then everything went black.

Sam woke up and stretched luxuriously. The night had been—well, fuck, the night had been incredible. His deepest fear had been faced and his deepest love had unbelievably been fulfilled, creating an event he'd never believed would—could—happen. 

Dean was gone, but Sam tried to ping him mentally and got an image of Baby on the road and coffee. He smiled and went into the shower, feeling more lighthearted than he could practically ever remember. Maybe with Jessica, he'd experienced a semblance of this feeling, but this was _Dean_ , and it was tenfold.

Then the fire blazed up in his mind, along with screeching metal and Dean's panic. Sam screamed and fell to his knees, oblivious of the water beating down on him.

“DEAN!”

Dean came to with the uncomfortably familiar sensation of being tightly bound to a pole at his back. His hands were tightly fastened around the pole, straining his shoulders, and his legs were also bound to the point where he could feel the chain biting into his skin. 

Great.

He tried to reach Sam mentally, but found only blackness. He couldn't rule out that was bad news, but he chose to think whoever had taken him had a psychic block up. There was no use giving up hope before he even knew the score.

When he opened his eyes, Dean was unsurprised to see he was in a dark cavern, complete with rock walls, oppressive air, and a hacked-out fireplace with a huge roaring fire blazing in it. It was almost the cliché villain's lair.

What he didn't expect was to open his eyes and see Ed Mitchell looking at him.

“The fuck?” Dean queried intelligently. Okay, so his car had spun out and then there was the ring of fire, maybe he was not on top of his game just yet.

Ed laughed, his cheery face still looking cheery, but also creepy as Hell now.

“Hey, Dean. Getcha a cold one?” 

“Fuck you.”

Ed cackled. “No fucking for you. Maybe getting fucked.” His eyes raked over Dean's imprisoned form. “Maybe I'll fuck you. You got a pretty nice ass. Always liked seeing you strut around the bar. Maybe after you suck me with those sweet girly lips.” He ran a finger over Dean's bottom lip. “Been a while since anyone's played a tune on my meat whistle.” Ed cupped himself and laughed raucously.

Dean rolled his eyes mentally. Again with the lips. Not that he minded Sam inside his lips, but this was not the time or place for that.

“Gee, Ed, I never knew you swung that way. Doesn't matter, I'd never get on my knees for an asshole like you anyway.” Ed growled, but Dean sailed on. “Who are you working for here? Because I know this is way above your pay grade. I don't think there's a rate scale for 'imbecile'. Or 'shitbag'.”

Ed back-handed him across the face, knocking Dean's head to the side and stunning him for a moment. _Fuck._

“Laugh it up, Winchester. The fun is all on you later,” Ed snarled.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the fog from Ed's blow. He tried to turn into his cat, figuring the chains would fall loose, but nothing happened. The chains must be bespelled. Shit. He never wanted to be a cat so much in his life as right now.

“What's in this for you, Ed? Why are you working for a demon anyway?” A realization hit Dean, now that he knew Ed had been another player. “Shit! It was you, wasn't it? It wasn't Delia at all. _You_ drew the devil's trap, trapped Nic. A demon couldn't do it, but you could, you weasel.” Anger filled Dean's chest. “What did Nic ever do to you? It didn't deserve that.”

“Now, listen to you defending a demon!” Ed brayed laughter. “Let's say that this one is like my sponsor. He's made me promises that only he can keep. Promises that are worth everything to me.” His face was suddenly sober, and Dean wondered what those promises entailed.

“Yeah, demons _always_ keep their promises,” Dean scoffed. That earned him another blow. _Shut up, dude,_ he told himself, wishing he could wipe the trickle of blood he felt oozing from the corner of his mouth. Sometimes his attitude ran away with him. Always a smart-ass reply from Dean Winchester.

Hmm, maybe he was getting a little loopy from Ed's blows.

“Okay, so big promises means you gotta _kill?_ You have to kidnap humans? What's the Big Guy's beef with me anyway?”

“You're in his way. He doesn't want you so much as he wants Sam. You're just the way to get to him.” Ed walked over to the fireplace. Picking up an iron rod from the floor, he set it in the fire.

Dean did not like the look of that at all. He flashed back to sitting in the Bender's living room, amid the creepy teeth wind-chimes, while Papa Bender brandished a red-hot poker near his eye and his feral daughter giggled.

Shit was getting real. Dean tried again to raise a Bat signal for Sam. Nada.

“Me? How am I in the way? What does he want Sam for? I'm the pretty one.” When in doubt, keep talking was Dean's rule of thumb. At least it led to more information.

Ed shook his head. “That's for him to say. He'll be here any minute.”

Under that imminent threat, Dean desperately tried once again to worm more info out of Ed. “Who is 'he' anyway?”

“I am Ukobach, Demon of Fire. And you are Dean Winchester, the famous hunter. Brother, partner, and Familiar to Sam Winchester, the Witch.” 

The voice was not as deep as Dean expected somehow. It was a scratchy voice, filled with hisses and cracks like the sound of wet wood popping in the fireplace. It bore no relation to any kind of human voice Dean had ever heard before.

“Hey, Uke! How ya doing there?” Dean put all the jocularity he could into the greeting. Ed's face turned red with anger, and he came over to Dean with his hand raised. Dean squawked, “Dude! Dude! No damaging the demon's goods here!”

Ed paused, hand in mid-air. He looked over at Ukobach, who dismissively waved his hand.

“I wish to speak to the human. Leave him be for now.”

Ed glowered, but stepped back.

“You yourself are not important. It is the role you play that matters to me. I need that role...vacated.” Ukobach came closer, the light of that big fire illuminating his form. “You are the gateway to my goal. A means to an end.”

Now that he could see Ukobach, Dean kind of wished he couldn't. Uko was as fugly a creature as Dean had ever seen. He was humanoid in that he had a head, two arms, and two legs, but any resemblance to humans ended there. He had a tail, but it was a twisted ropy thing with a long tuft of black hair on the end. His whole body was a mottled red, and when he moved, Dean could see rills of flame running up and down him. Ukobach's head was over-sized for his frame; it was a huge melon of a head, with an enormous, bulbous nose, protuberant eyes, and large, floppy ears to rival Dobby's. It was all the same variegated red as his body, with tufts of black hair sprouting in random patches around it's scalp and ears. 

Dean cleared his throat, trying to summon up some arrogance in the face of such a horrible looking demon. “I've often referred to my dick as 'The Gateway of Love', ya know?” He leered. “Nice job sending the Siren there. She was a hot tamale and a half. Man, those tits!” He gave a short whistle.

Uko growled. “She was a weakling. She's been handled.”

Dean couldn't help feeling a pang for the hapless Siren who'd gotten caught in a web more evil than her own.

“Now that I have you, I shall be able to secure the one I truly want. He will not delay to come rescue you, like a moth drawn to the light. I am ready for him to arrive.”

“Who, Sam?” Dean felt a new wave of fear. “What do you want Sam for? I'm the hot one.” He made himself wink. “See what I did there?”

“Enough of your puerile human joking around. We will wait for Sam. Until then, Ed will not hurt you. Once Sam is here, then we shall proceed.”

_Oh great. He was safe until Sam arrived, but Sam had to arrive in order to rescue him. Not good, Winchester, not good. And proceed with what?_

_And just what did old Uko want with Sam anyway?_

“So, what do you want with Sam anyway?” Dean asked casually.

But where Ukobach had been was now just a little fire burning on the cave floor.

_Get a grip, asshole. You can't find Dean if you're freaking out like this._

Sam sat on his bed, the bed where the sheets were still rumpled and smelled like Dean. Like him and Dean and sex.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

He picked up his phone and called Rowena. Her voicemail answered.

“This is Rowena, Queen of Hell. I am busy torturing and shopping. Please leave a message--”

Sam groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. He wished Bobby was around. Bobby, who always had a suggestion, an idea, a kick in the pants when you needed one. Sam wasn't sure how Bobby might have felt about the whole Witch/Familiar thing, but first and foremost, Bobby loved them and would have ceded to their decision.

 _Bobby would tell you that you can do this. That Dean is okay._ Sam felt himself give a little smile. _Bobby would tell you to get up, get out there, and kick this thing in the ass._

“So get going, Winchester,” Sam said aloud. “Get going and find your brother.”

Dressing and grabbing coffee from the kitchen, Sam went to the main room. The books he and Dean had been combing through were still there. He thought for a moment before resolutely turning away. “That's not it,” he told himself. “Not gonna find Dean that way. It's time to test how that power boost worked.”

He entered his Witch workroom, methodically gathering a few items. A map of the world, and a silver chain with a little cage at one end. He looked over his tray of stones and crystals. Quartz for clarity? Chalcopyrite for finding lost things? Everything had its own properties—what was the right one for finding Dean?

In the end, he chose rose quartz; the focus still on clarity, but tied to the heart. Dean and Sam were bound now, in every way, so if that didn't qualify for the heart, he didn't know what would.

Sam closed his eyes and centered himself. He built Dean's face in his mind's eye, every feature that Sam knew and loved so well. His freckles; the tiny bump on his nose; the freckle on his bottom lip. The often rakish look in his green eyes, and the way that green darkened with lust. Sam's heart clenched for a moment, but he pushed that away and concentrated.

Opening the cage on the end of the silver chain, Sam placed the rose quartz in it and snapped it shut. He held it in both hands as he said a spell of finding, pressing it to the ground, his groin, his heart, his lips, and his forehead. Holding the other end of the chain, he let it swing free over the map. He'd never scryed before, but he'd studied it. If ever he needed to try it, this was the time.

The silver cage stilled, the rose quartz inside glowing radiantly pink. Sam stuck a pin in the map and pulled the scryer away.

Apparently, Dean was underneath Yellowstone National Park.

Ooookay. Random much?

 _Ooooh._ Sam's mind connected the dots. Fire demon.

Volcano.

Now it made more sense. A terrifying kind of sense. Sam hoped the demon's plan was all about Dean and not about triggering the supervolcano that could bring years of winter to the world.

_No pressure. Get moving._

Now that he had a location, Sam grabbed a pack and started throwing things into it. Water, protein bars, and a first aid kit—who knew what aid Dean might need? An assortment of powder packets, a few other packets of arcane ingredients, with a special eye to things that repelled fire. A couple of powerful stones to boost spells. A flashlight, and a couple of glow sticks.

Sam got his heavy jacket and boots. It looked like it would be a tough environment.

He was also not the steadiest with zapping in and out of places yet. Not like he'd materialize in a wall or anything, but his reach was not unlimited.

Yet. So far. He was going to push that limit right now.

With a chant and some signs drawn in the air, Sam disappeared from the bunker.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean felt somewhat grateful for the pole at his back. It kept him from falling over, and he could kind of sag in the chains for a little relief. Ukobach had not returned, but at least Ed was heeding the demon's instructions and staying at bay, along with his now red-hot poker. Dean did not care for how the tip glowed white as it sat in the fire.

With a sharp smell of ozone, and a flash that rent the air, Sam appeared. Dean was both terribly relieved and terribly horrified.

“Sam, get out of here! It's a trap!”

Sam looked at him fondly. “Of course it is. I'm not stupid, Dean.” He came over to Dean and briefly kissed him, placing one hand on Dean's heart. Dean had been prepared to never kiss Sam again, so the feeling of those smooth lips on his, conveying all of Sam's love, was a gift.

Ed yelled, “Get away from him!” He grabbed the poker with a blacksmith's mitt and brandished it wildly. Sam turned and spoke a word, and the poker turned into a burning branch. Ed gasped and dropped it, his eyes wide.

“Sit down and shut up,” directed Sam with a gesture, and Ed did just that, dropping to the ground like his strings had been cut.

Sam drew a packet from his pocket, sprinkling a stinky orange powder over Dean's chains. They melted into ash, falling in little heaps at his feet. Stiff from being bound so long, Dean fell forward into Sam's arms. Sam hugged him, but Dean's arms were too sore to raise and return the hug. Sam rubbed them briskly to help restore Dean's circulation.

“Let's go,” urged Dean. “Sam, Ukobach wants you for something. It's gotta be something pretty bad. We have to get out of here.”

“No,” answered Sam. “I know he does, but we need to find out what he's up to and destroy him. We can't have him popping up again.”

Dean didn't entirely agree with staying put, but he saw Sam's point. It wasn't their habit to run, if they could end their enemy first. While Dean's point of view had always been protecting Sam at whatever cost, that drive was somehow ramped up even higher now. He figured that was half Familiar and half Dean being in love with Sam.

A flare of light and smoke, and Ukobach re-appeared. Sam looked at him in disgust.

“He's pretty fugly,” he said to Dean. Dean had to laugh.

“Yeah, he really is.”

Uko frowned. “More of your senseless human japery. Sam Winchester, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I am Ukobach, Demon of Fire. It was my fireworks that burnt the human building down and killed that snake traitor, Nic; my oil trap and ring of fire that captured Dean. These are just a few small things of which I am capable.” Ukobach preened a bit.

“Wow, he really likes to talk about himself too,” commented Sam. Dean couldn't help chuckling. He did enjoy a snarky Sam.

Ukobach frowned again, drawing his bushy black brows together. “Enough! Sam, I have forced you to come here for a reason, and it is not to listen to your stupid human humor.”

“Okay,” answered Sam. “What _did_ you want me for?” He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed on his chest, with a calm expression. His whole demeanor was of controlled strength. Dean felt his brother brimming with well-leashed power, and his heart warmed in love and admiration.

“You have a destiny,” said Ukobach. “It is a destiny that has gone unfulfilled for far too long, and I am here to make you accept it. You yourself referred to it recently.” Sam raised his eyebrows in a question, and Ukobach nodded. “Yes, you spoke recently to a group of demons and told them that no one could be King of Hell unless they came through you, thereby admitting your desire—nay, your _ownership_ \--of the crown. As it was foretold many years ago, you are the Boy King, and you must ascend your throne!” 

Sam looked puzzled, but then Dean saw comprehension grow in his eyes as he recalled what event Ukobach was referring to. “What? No! That is not what I meant! That door shut a long time ago, when we killed Azazel! It didn't happen then, and it's not going to happen now!”

With sibilant malice, Ukobach said, “Yes. It is time--it is long past time--for you to finally accept your destiny and rule as the Boy King! You must take up your Infernal Mantle and rule over Hell's endless pits of fire and despair. You must raise the Sulphurous Sceptre, and all the demons and damned souls in all the rings of Hell will bow down before you.” Ukobach looked positively orgasmic by this point, and if Dean were not terrified by the crazed demon, he might have laughed at the foul glee it emanated.

Sam looked genuinely horrified, and Dean felt apprehensive that they had not seen this coming at all. Sam answered Ukobach firmly, saying “I spoke as I did to disperse an avaricious group of squabbling demons. I did not mean I would take up the crown myself. That is a destiny I ended long ago, and I have no intention to fulfill it now. Besides, Rowena is your Queen, and she rules with my complete approval and support.”

Ukobach laughed, a truly ugly noise that made both Sam and Dean flinch with its unearthly din as it echoed in the rocky chamber. “Rowena is off battling her dissenters as we speak. While she has her factions, the rest of Hell still desires the Boy King to ascend the throne. This destiny has been promised to us for far too long, and we chafe under waiting.” He preened again, throwing off sparks and bits of flaming ash. “As the one who ultimately will bring this to pass, I will achieve great power myself. I will be at your right hand, taking the role of your Chancellor, and great prestige and honor will be mine! After eons of being shunted aside, I will have the power to end all who would belittle me, and I will laugh at their horrible annihilation!”

He looked at Dean with a sneer. “If you cooperate peacefully, we could allow you to choose your own Consort, although there is no guarantee.”

“There will be no Chancellor and no need for a Consort, because this isn't going to happen.” Dean heard Sam's tone become angrier. “I will end you if you don't release my brother.”

“I not only will not release him, I will torture him if you resist! I will strip the flesh from his bones, and the eyes from his skull! I will hang his tongue and his balls on the wall over your throne! I know your weak spot, Winchester, and he is it! Agree now, and he can still be your Consort, even if he's missing a few pieces.” Uko leered again. “I can make sure his dick is still attached, if you prefer. I understand you like that part.”

“Damn, you sure talk a lot. What is it with demons, they gotta ramble on and on,” observed Dean. Sam couldn't hold back a snicker. He knew Dean had to be as alarmed as Sam was, and was using bravado as a distraction for Ukobach. Dean's fighting spirit was one of the things Sam had always loved and admired about Dean, from the days when he'd been a boy looking up to his big brother, to the present day, as they stood side-by-side facing down another demon, another fight.

Ukobach threw an empty, black-taloned hand towards the Winchesters. A cacophony of fireworks burst in a barrage of huge sparks, and the rock cavern echoed with the thundering report. Sam was momentarily both blinded and deafened with the assault. The fireworks kept on coming, the sparks falling in showers of flames. They scorched holes into Sam and Dean's clothes, burning their exposed skin. The burns were too small to be serious, but they hurt like a bitch, and prevented Sam from marshaling an attack.

“Shit!” yelled Dean, who didn't even have a jacket to protect him. Sam withdrew one of his powder packets, throwing it over Dean and saying a few Latin words to activate the protective spell. The sparks continued to fall, but now they merely glanced off Dean's skin, although his clothes were still perforated by the sparks. 

Sam took the offensive now, drawing sigils in the air that resolved into thick black smoke. He pushed the smoke forward, and it wrapped about Ukobach, solidifying into chains. Moving closer, since his foe was now momentarily contained, Sam put one hand up and concentrated on creating a beam of light, focusing it tightly between Ukobach's protuberant eyes. The demon squealed in pain.

Sam glanced back at Dean, and saw his brother was searching for something in the bare rock cavern to use as a weapon. His attention was snatched back by a triumphant roar from Ukobach. He'd broken his chains, forcing his whole body to heat up and melt the metal links until he could break free.

“Puny magic! I am too mighty for your feeble spells!” Ukobach roared. He rushed at Sam, who was hard-pressed to throw up a shield and fend off the attack. Ukobach moved in again and again, keeping Sam busy on the defensive. The demon laughed his ugly, screeching laugh. “You cannot resist me!” His tail lashed, the black tuft of hair scattering ashes wildly as it swung around.

“Fuck!” yelled Dean, and Sam knew his brother was frustrated at not being able to help in the fight. At least, not until a tawny mountain lion streaked past Sam, circling Ukobach with lightning fast feints, clawing and biting at him.

“Dean! No!” Sam called out, but of course the mountain lion ignored him. Certainly Ukobach was being very distracted by the random attacks of the big cat. Sam stopped trying to corral Dean, instead pressing his own attack forward. He drew the machete he'd stuck in his belt—just about anything could be killed by beheading, after all—and swung and hacked at the flaming demon.

Ukobach finally swung one arm and sent mountain lion-Dean sliding across the rock floor, pitching into the wall. He reverted to human, lying there stunned, and Sam yelled in fury that his brother, his partner, should be hurt. That anger gave Sam strength to wield his machete all the harder. He'd scored a number of hits on Ukobach, but the demon seemed oblivious to the molten fluid that served as his blood oozing out of a score of wounds. Sam realized that Ukobach was actually healing himself with the little gouts of flame swirling around his body, and some gut-deep fear trickled like cold water down his spine. Sooner or later, Sam would fatigue, and if Ukobach was still intact, the end would not be good.

“Enough of this ridiculous fighting! You cannot hope to defeat me! You will accede to becoming my puppet ruler of Hell, or I will destroy countless thousands of humans!” spat Ukobach.

“What are you talking about?” sneered Dean, yanking his jeans back on. “You going to throw some more fireworks around?”

“Yes! But not ordinary fireworks.” Ukobach gestured around the cavern. “We are beneath the largest firework of all, right here!”

 _Oh shit,_ thought Sam. In all the fighting, he'd momentarily lost track of where they were. He urgently pushed his suspicion and alarm at Dean. _Dean, we're underneath--_

Ukobach smiled—Sam would have called it smug, if it didn't look so out-of-place on the demon's horrid face. “Yes, an enormous, lovely volcano. Overhead is a veritable sea of magma--hot, liquid rock, waiting to fill this cavern and spew into the sky like a rocket." He ran a hand down one wall, and tiny tendrils of lava began to slowly seep through the scratches his talons had left.

"What--" began Dean, his confusion clear to Sam through their bond.

"Dean, it's a volcano. The Yellowstone Caldera. It's a supervolcano that, if it blows, will be worse than Pompeii and Krakatoa combined. Half the country will die, and the other half will have a nuclear winter." Sam's voice cracked as he struggled to speak calmly. 

Dean went white. Sam caught _Well...fuck_ in his mind.

Then Dean set his jaw resolutely. "You're crazier than Azazel and Alastair combined if you think we're gonna let that happen. No red, knobby, hairy demon is going to blow this torch."

He swept up a large rock and pegged Ukobach right between the eyes. It didn't hurt the demon, but it startled him and momentarily broke his focus, letting Sam launch his first strikes.

Sam opened with a magical attack, using spells to inflict pain and damage, as well as spells to resist Ukobach's attacks. He threw sigil after sigil at the demon. The magic hit Ukobach and slowed him down, but the almost comical-looking demon was in fact deceptively strong. Ukobach tossed exploding sparks and fireballs at the Winchesters. Sam was able to deflect most of them, and he created a small shield for protection, but it was difficult to keep up a defense as well as an offense.

Sam frantically searched his mind for something to make a decisive blow on the creature and turn the tide his way. He really did not want to consider the alternative. It wasn't just them--it was all of North America being incinerated, much less the whole Ice Age thing.

He hated when the stakes went that high. The fear that such huge consequences engendered was an obstacle in itself, slowing his mind and reflexes, making it hard to find a solution.

A new firework exploded, lighting up the cave like the Fourth of July. Sam ducked under his arm to cover his eyes. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Work, brain. What's the answer?_

In desperation, he threw his hand out, focusing his power like he used to do in his demon-blood days. As his strength coalesced, he felt the metaphysical channels built into him so long ago were still there in his psyche, dormant and empty. The difference this time was that he was not powered by blood, by the powers of darkness and evil; Sam's power came from the light, overseen by his soul and the magic that had grown inside him.

His hand splayed open, fingers spread wide. He felt the power draw up from inside and shoot down his arm fluidly, bursting out from his hand toward Ukobach. 

Ukobach cried out in pain, flinching from the light beam flowing at him. Sam could feel Ukobach pressing back against the beam, and he had to grit his teeth to keep up the pressure. _Shit, he's a strong little sucker..._ Sam barely had time to think before he felt his feet slipping backwards on the smooth rock floor as Ukobach slowly advanced.

Tiny pinpricks stabbed Sam's shoulders. He couldn't shift his focus or he'd lose what traction he had, but the mystery of the pain was solved by the yowl of an angry cat, perched on his shoulders and hissing at their enemy.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the fog created by colliding into the cave wall. He looked to see how Sam was doing, and saw his brother struggling to contain the demon. Dean was momentarily aghast when the beam of light shot out of Sam's hand, flashing back to the dark days of demon blood and unholy power. He reached out in alarm, but immediately felt the difference; he felt how, this time, Sam's power drew on light.

Dean could also see how Sam was tiring, though, with the strain of attacking and defending simultaneously, and with how strong Ukobach had turned out to be. Sam's bolt of light, antithetical to Ukobach though it was, was not powerful enough to end the demon. 

Dean staggered to his feet. He had to do something, he could not stand by as his brother, his partner, fought a losing battle to die in this horrible cave, sentencing a nation or more to be extinguished or worse, before he'd be taken to Hell as a puppet ruler, condemned for eternity. 

_Not on my watch,_ Dean promised to himself. 

He shifted to his cat form and raced across the cave floor, leaping onto Sam's shoulders, where he dug his claws in. He didn't want to risk being dislodged, but what was most important was Dean creating the closest bond he could with Sam right now.

 _Blood to blood._ Little beads of blood welled up through Sam's shirt, but neither he nor Dean cared. Dean _focused_ \--he drew up everything within him, every bit of the magical heritage he shared with Sam, every bit of his own power that bonding with Sam had unleashed, and he _pushed_ it into his brother.

He felt Sam start as Dean's power flooded him. The beam of light emitting from his hand faltered for a second, prompting Ukobach to roar and surge forward, expecting victory.

“The Boy King will live! Hell will be ours!”

Sam closed his eyes and Dean felt him sending his power out afresh. A bolt of light burst forth, slamming into Ukobach like a freight train, and punching a hole through his head. Ukobach's brains splattered across the wall behind him, and his body stood still for a second before it fell heavily with a meaty, squishy sound.

Sam caught his breath and fell to his knees, completely drained. He reached around and Dean retracted his claws, letting Sam draw him in to Sam's chest, hugging him tightly.

“Jesus, Dean...” Sam whispered, kissing Dean's head. He could feel tears trickling into his fur. He would have changed back, but it felt kinda nice. He let out a little purr.

Opening his eyes, Dean's gaze fell on the huge fireplace. He was horrified to see Ed grab another iron bar from the fire and lurch towards them, his face filled with pain and anger.

“No! No!! You bastards!” Ed yelled, his voice clogged with tears. “My daughter! My grandchildren! My family is _gone!_ ”

Dean clawed at Sam who, drained from his battle, was turning slowly to meet this new threat. Freeing himself from Sam's arms, Dean leaped at Ed. Midway through his leap, he shifted.

One hundred fifty pounds of furious mountain lion landed on Ed, knocking him down onto the floor. Sitting on Ed's body, Dean stared into the enraged man's face. Ed's anger was accompanied by overwhelming loss—a loss which could now never be filled. Dean saw the man's sanity disintegrate before him, leaving only the dark void of madness.

Dean glanced at Sam. _Sam?_

Sam shook his head. Dean could hear the sadness in his reply. _End his pain, brother._

Dean huffed, dropping his head for a second in sorrow and respect for the life of a man. 

With a swipe of one mighty paw, Dean tore out Ed's throat, ending his existence as mercifully as he knew how.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam wandered through the aisles of the grocery store. The pantry at the bunker was pretty empty--no time for shopping what with the recent demon battle and world-saving. He wanted some fresh fruit and salad greens, but was also picking up pasta, steaks, and of course, pie. They deserved a nice dinner for saving the world again. Dean was home sleeping; the effort he'd extended as his mountain lion had been physically draining, plus he'd experienced some emotional fall-out from ending Ed's misery. Killing humans was not their usual deal.

Maybe he'll get _two_ pies, Sam thought. Apple _and_ cherry. And beer.

Turning down an aisle as a shortcut to the fresh bakery, Sam found himself in the pet section. An area filled with colorful toys caught his eye, and he stopped to look at them. He could have sworn they were toys for kids--all kind of plushies and things with bells and feathers, but nope--they were for cats.

Huh. About to move on, he stopped again. A toy moose caught his eye. Sam took it off the hook and examined it. He sniffed it, finding it had an herbal-type smell. He read the label and saw it was stuffed with catnip. He'd always heard about how cats got stoned on catnip, but he'd never seen it for himself. Amusing images immediately filled his mind.

No. He couldn't.

Well, maybe...didn't Dean deserve something fun?

Sam tucked the toy into his shopping basket.

Later that evening, after the steaks were grilled and consumed, they had slices of pie accompanied by whiskey (a surprisingly tasty combination). Even Dean admitted he was stuffed. They went outside, sitting in a little quasi-patio area outside the back door, where they could see the fields and enjoy the evening air.

"Nice sunset," commented Dean, nodding at the orange-pink sky fading to indigo over the Kansas plains.

"Yep," agreed Sam. "Of course, if the volcano had blown, there'd be incredibly vivid sunsets all around the world. It's the volcanic dust; hangs in the air, and the different elements create brilliant colors."

"If the volcano had blown, we'd first of all be dead, and second we'd have winter all year for a few years. I'll settle for an ordinary pretty sunset." Dean commented dryly.

"Good point." Sam reached under his chair. "Hey, got you a little present at the store."

Dean sat up. "More than steak and two kinds of pie? Why, Sammy, I'm gonna think you _like_ me!"

 _Smartass,_ Sam sent at Dean. Dean's laugh echoed between their minds.

"Here." Sam tossed the toy to Dean.

"What the hell.." Dean frowned. "Dude, you did not get me a frickin' cat toy."

"Dude, I did."

Dean scoffed. "Bitch." He tossed the toy back into Sam's lap.

Sam snickered. "Pussy."

Instantly a ginger cat sat in Dean's chair, green eyes glowing at Sam. He could swear the cat stuck his little pink tongue out at Sam, but then Dean jumped over and snatched the toy off Sam's lap. Holding it in his mouth, Dean primly marched away a few steps before plopping down to sniff his new toy.

Sam couldn't resist choosing the moose for Dean; it had made Sam chuckle, thinking of Crowley's nickname for Sam. He chuckled again while he sat there watching Dean play with it. Dean chewed on the moose's antlers, then dropped it as he sneezed a couple of times. Pouncing back on the felt moose, Dean batted it around, jumping and chasing it as it flipped around.

It didn't take long for the catnip to work its magic. Dean staggered around in a drunken circle, his legs folding under him as he gently sank down. The moose remained firmly clasped in between his front paws. Dean looked up at Sam, his green eyes dilated. _Better than whiskey. Thanks,_ was all Sam got before his brother the cat conked out, the tip of his tongue just peeking out between his fangs, giving him a dissolute air.

Sam stood and scooped Dean up in his arms, bringing cat and toy back inside the bunker. He went to Dean's room, where he deposited Dean on his pillow before undressing down to his boxers. Sam lay down and pulled the blanket up, snuggling Dean against his chest.

"Good night, Dean." Sam kissed Dean between his furry ears. "Best Familiar ever."


End file.
